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''•I  I  lie  book,  hr  safely  makes  his  pass  ape  r  manhood  sees  youthful  visions  pass  away.aji 
In'Jtn  with  Infirmities  with  shattered  bark  ptjases  into  the  sea  unknown;  shoreless,  faiij 


float  he/ore  hwi:  Fleat^ure.R-iches.  Fame  ^c.hntpf  him  aside,  hut  if  he  lic/'Hs^  fit/'  aivmt' 
uidtsJiisJoad^d  bfirf<  ffirouifti  breakers .  storms S>:  floods.-  q\x\  kgv.  totters  wiUi  wiisfini/  v^ars 
'■ss.  eternal .  tv  sink  m  deepest  viqht.  or  nse  tt?  endless,  blissful,  qlorious  day  ' 


THE 


BIBLE 


LOOKING    GLASS: 


REFLECTOR,  COMPANION  AND  GUIDE  TO  THE  GREAT  TRUTHS 

OF  THE  SACRED  SCRIPTURES,  AND  ILLUSTRATING  THE 

DIVERSITIES  OF  HUMAN  CHARACTER,  AND  THE 

QUALITIES   OF   THE   HUMAN  HEART. 


Consisting  of  Six  Books  in  two  Parts. 

PROFUSELY  ILLUSTRATED  BY  OBJECT  TEACHING  PICTURES 

Showing  the  pain  and  misery  resulting  from  vice,  and  the 

PEACE  a7id  happiness  arising  from  virtue. 

By  JOHN  W.  BARBER  and  OTHERS. 

PART  A. 

Religious  Emblems — Religions  Allegories — Christian  Pilgrim. 


BRADLEY,  GARRETSON  &  CO., 

PHILADtLPHIA,     No.   66     NORTH     FOURTH     STREET, 

WILLIAM  GARRETSON  &  CO., 

OALESBURG,  ILL.,  COLUMBUS,  OHiO,  NASHVILLE,  TENN.,  HOUSTON,  TEXAS, 

SAN  FRANCISCO,  CAL. 
18.7.5. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  mdccclxvi, 

By  JOHN  W.   BARBER, 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  Connecticut. 

BIBLE    LOOKING   GLASS. 


INTRODUCTORY. 


The  leading  features  of  this  work,  so  far  as  the  writer  of  tliis  preface  is 
concerned,  were  planned  in  his  youthful  days.  From  early  childhood  he 
was  strongly  attracted  and  impressed  by  pictorial  representations,  and  passed 
much  time  in  making  pen-and-ink  drawings  of  such  objects  as  arrested  his 
attention.  This  inclination  increased  with  his  years,  but  it  received  only  a 
limited  encouragement,  and  on  some  occasions  its  exercise  was  forbidden  aa 
a  waste  of  time. 

In  the  year  1812,  when  he  was  about  fourteen,  he  was  sent  to  live  with 
Mr.  A.  Reed,*  of  East  "Windsor  (now  South  Windsor),  Connecticut,  to  learn 
the  art  of  engraving.  Having  served  his  seven  ^^ears  of  apprenticeship,  he 
returned  to  his  native  place,  in  Windsor,  three  miles  north  of  Hartford,  to 
live  with  his  widowed  mother,  then  in  depressed  circumstances.  As  there 
appeared  to  be  no  opening  for  his  business,  he  was,  for  a  time,  quite  uncer- 
tain what  would  be  his  occupation  for  the  future.  He,  however,  felt  a 
confidence  that  the  Divine  Being,  whom  he  was  trying  to  serve,  would  sup- 
ply every  thing  needful  and  direct  him  to  the  course  he  should  pursue.  In 
this  hope  and  expectation,  in  a  life  began  in  the  last  century  and  already 
expanded  to  nearly  three-score  years  and  ten,  he  has  not  been  disappointed. 

Nearly  half  a  century  since,  the  writer  began  in  a  small  way  as  author 
and  publisher.  His  first  attempt  in  this  branch  of  business  was  in  the  year 
1819,  and  was  of  the  pictorial  kind.  It  was  a  series  of  wood-cuts,  printed 
on  a  half-sheet  of  printing  paper,  representing  the  Christian  Pilgrim  on  his 

*The  writer  has  ever  considered  it  a  favorable  circumstance  that  he  become  a  member  of  the 
family  of  Deacon  Abner  Reed,  where  Christian  rules  were  adopted,  and  where  its  heads  felt  an 
interest  in  the  religious  welfare  of  those  under  their  charge.  Mr.  Reed  died  in  Toledo,  Ohio,  in 
1866,  at  the  advanced  age  of  ninety-four  years.  He  was  remarkable  for  his  cheerfulness  through 
all  the  vicissitudes  of  life  which  he  experienced. 


ii  JI^TEODUCTOEY. 


journey  from  the  city  of  Destruction  to  the  ISTew  Jerusalem.  It  was  entitled, 
"Banyan's  Pilgrim's  Progress,  Exhibited  in  a  Metamorphosis,  or  a  Trans- 
formation of  Pictures."  The  print  was  folded  up  in  the  form  of  a  book,  and 
the  Pilgrim's  course,  hi  the  difl'erent  stages  of  his  journey,  sho^^n  by  lifting 
parts  of  a  divided  leaf  downward  or  upward. 

The  next  publication  was  issued  in  Hartford,  Connecticut,  in  1822,  and 
was  entitled,  "A  Miniature  of  the  World  in  the  Nineteenth  Century."  The 
original  design  for  this  engraving  was  made  in  1816,  when  the  author  was 
eighteen  years  of  age,  and  is,  in  fact,  an  epitome  of  the  workjUipw  in  the 
hands  of  the  reader.  A  book,  also  at  about  that  time,  was  projected,  com- 
bining the  essential  features  of  the  present  volume,  under  the  title  of  Looking- 
Glass. 

The  above-mentioned  print,  in  which  the  broad  road  to  destruction  and 
the  narrow  path  of  life  are  depicted,  the  author  has  been  assured,  has  been 
the  means,  under  God,  of  turning  several  from  the  wicked  course  to  the  path 
of  life.  Pacts  like  this  show  that  the  Almighty  can  do  a  great  work  by  the 
use  of  means  which  may  be  considered  as  feeble.  It  also  convinces  the 
author  that  he  has  not  mistaken  his  calling. 

An  Emblem  is  a  figure  or  figures  which  represent  one  thing  to  the  ej^e, 
while  at  the  same  time  it  suggests  another  to  the  understanding.  By  this 
raethod,  moral  and  religious  truth  has  been  forcibly  illustrated.  It  has  been 
truly  said,  "Nothing  gives  greater  pleasure  than  allegory,  when  the  repre- 
sentative subject  bears  a  strong  analogy,  in  all  its  circumstances,  to  that 
which  is  represented."  To  produce  this  result,  every  thing  faint,  obscure,  or 
far-fetched  must  be  avoided.  A  Similitude  is  a  likeness  of  one  thing  to 
another.  The  numerous  pictures  in  this  volume  were  designed  and  drawn 
by  the  author,  and  many  of  them  engraved  by  him  personally. 

Those  parts  of  this  work  with  which  the  writer  is  most  particularly  con- 
cerned, were  issued  at  diiferent  periods.  The  first,  the  Religious  Emblems, 
was  published  in  1846  ;  the  Religious  Allegories,  a  few  years  afterward.  The 
pictorial  part  of  each  Emblem  and  Allegory  was  drawn  off,  and  the  accom- 
panying matter  written  by  the  Rev.  Wm.  Holmes. 

The  exclusive  right  to  circulate  the  two  united  works — Emblems  and  Alle- 
gories— was  purchased  by  Mr.  Henry  Howe,  of  Cincinnati,  and  it  at  once  at- 
tained large  sales.  The  third  of  these  emblematic  works,  the  Christian 
Similitudes,  was  first  published  in  1860,  by  the  author,  at  New  Haven, 
Connecticut.  It  is  herein  revised  from  the  first  edition.  The  Christian 
Pilgrim  is  a  condensed  account  of  the  Pilgrim's  Progress,  with  explanatorj 


INTRODUCTORY.  iii 


notes,   for  which    the   author  is    largely  indebted   to    Dr.   Scott,  the   com- 
mentator. 

A  peculiar  feature,  in  this  combi-iied  collection  of  all  these  works,  is  the 
arranorement,  around  each  of  the  engravings,  of  Bible  texts,  answering  to 
the  marginal  references  used  in  large  Bibles.  It  appears  in  none  of  the  pre- 
vious editions,  and  is,  as  the  author  conceives,  a  useful  original  invention  of 
his,  to  more  fully  illustrate  the  subjects  depicted,  and  to  lead  the  reader  to 
obey  th^^vine  injunction,  "to  search  the  Scriptures." 

The  plan  of  combining  these  four  emblematical  works  in  one  volume  was 
suggested  by  Mr.  Howe  several  years  since.  The  form  was  also  suggested 
by  him,  and,  although  rather  antique,  it  will  be  found  convenient  to  the 
reader  and  in  the  shape  in  which  it  will  be  transmitted  to  posterity.  The 
fifth  book,  the  "Sunday  Book,"  by  Mr.  Howe  himself,  and  also  a  sixth. 
"  Gray's  Elegy,"  illustrated,  are  annexed  for  the  sake  of  variety. 

Judging  from  the  time  these  emblematic  works  have  been  before  the 
public,  and  the  approval  they  have  received  from  Christians  of  all  denomi- 
nations, their  adaptation  to  ail  classes,  and  especially  from  the  Bible  truths 
they  exhibit,  it  is  believed  they  will  be  read  with  pleasure  and  profit  long 
after  we  have  have  left  these  mortal  scenes.  We  feel  in  some  measure  the 
responsibility  of  circulating  and  explaining  the  Truth  of  God  to  those 
around  us,  and  we  hope  that  hereafter,  at  the  final  summing  up  of  all 
things,  it  will  be  made  to  appear  that  we  have  not  lived  in  vain. 

John  "Wabjster  Barber. 

New  Havkn,  Connectiqut. 

For  "J.  Few  Words  from  the  Publisher y^  see  Part  B. 


^BSKm. 


RELIGIOUS  EMBLEMS: 


BEING  A  SERIES  OF 


EMBLEMATIC  ENGRAVINGS, 

WITH  WRITTEN  EXPLANATIONS,  MISCELLANEOUS  OBSERVATIONS, 
AND  RELIGIOUS  REFLECTIONS, 

DESIGNED 

TO  ILLUSTRATE  DIVINE  TRUTH, 

IN  ACCORDANCE  WITH  THE  CARDINAL  PRINCIPLES  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


"J  have  used  similitudes."     Hosea,  xii  :  10. 


BY   WILLIAM    HOLMES, 

MINISTER  OF  THE  GOSPEL;    AND 

JOHN   W.  BARBER, 

AUTHOR   OF   SEVERAL    HISTORICAL    AND    RELIGIOUS   WORKS. 


BRADLEY,  GARRETSON  &  CO., 

PHILADELPHIA,     No.   66     NORTH     FOURTH     STREET, 

WILLIAM  GARRETSON  &  CO., 

GALESBURG,  ILL.,  COLUMBUS,  OHIO,  NASHVILLE,  TENN.,  HOUSTON,  TEXAS, 

SAN  FRANCISCO,  CAL. 

1875- 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  mdccclxxiii, 
By  JOHN  W.  BARBER, 
In  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  Washington. 


ilntered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  mdcccxlvi, 

By  JOHN  W.  BARBER, 

In  the  Clerk's  OfBce  of  the  District  Court  of  Connecticut. 

RELIGIOUS    EMBLEMS. 


Kino  &  Baird,  Pbinteks  and  Stekeotvpebs, 
607  6ANS0M  Street. 


CONTENTS   OF   RELIGIOUS   EMBLEMS. 


PAGK 

True  and  False  Principles 11 

Truth  . .    13 

Symbols  of  Faith 15 

The  "Way  of  Holiness 17 

The  Weight  of  God's  Word 19 

The  Christian  Eace 21 

Salvation 23 

The  Christian  Soldier 25 

The  Strait  or  Narrow  Gate , 27 

Dduble-mindedness.. 29 

The  House  Founded  on  a  Eock 31 

Self-confidence 33 

The  Surx  of  Truth 35 

Light  in  Darkness 37 

The  Worldling 39 

The  Cross-bearer , 41 

Worldly  Honor 43 

Heavenly  Desire 45 

The  Fatal  Current 47 

Salvation  by  Faith 49 

Simplicity,  or  Want  of  Understanding 51 

The  Persecuted  Christian 53 

The  Soul  in  Bondage 55 

The  Danger  of  Self-indulgence 57 

Carnal  Security 59 

The  Threefold  Demon,  or  Envy,  Hatred,  and  Malice 61 

Christian  Faith,  or  Eeligion 63 

Hope 65 

Brotherly  Kindness 67 

Divine  Love  and  Justice 69 

Reconciliation 71 

Adoption 73 

Spiritual  Pride 75 


10  CONTENTS. 


PAGS 

Hypocrisy 77 

Slander  and  Backbiting 79 

The  Tree  of  Evil 81 

Anger,  or  Madness 83 

Eepentance 85 

Fearful  and  Fearless 87 

The  Two  Worldlings 89 

Faith  and  Works 91 

Precipitation  93 

Vain  Pursuits  95 

Danger  of  Greatness 97 

Guilt 99 

Patience  and  Long-suffering 101 

Temptation • 103 

Prudence  and  Foresight c 105 

Fortitude  and  Constancy 107 

The  Fast-anchored  Ship 109 

Unanimity •  111 


Religious   Emblems. 


JOHN, 

Chap,  xiv 

verse  6. 


PSALX 

c: 
verse  5. 


JOHX, 

Chap,  xviii: 
verse  37. 


PSAL3I 

xix: 
verse  8. 


TRUE  a:n'd  false  principles. 


NEHEMIAH, 

Chaj).  ix: 
verses  13,  1-4. 


JEEE3IIAH, 

Chap,  xxiii: 
verse  32. 


EZEKIEL, 

Chap,  xiii: 
verses  10,  11 


EPIIESIAXS, 
Chap,  iv: 
verse  14:. 


Sut  the  loord  of  the  Lord  endureth  forever.     1  Pet.  i:  25. — 
Heaven  and  earth  shall  j^ass  away,  but  my  words  shall  not  imss 
away.     Matt,  xxiv:  35. 


'T  19  thus  amid  the  arctic  regions,  rise, 

The  Iceberg's  turrets  glittering  in  the  skies, 

Like  some  cathedral  Gothic  built,  it  rides, 

Borne  by  the  winds,  and  ever-shifting  tides: 

All  shapes  fantastic  soon  the  phantom  wears, 

A  palace  now,  and  now  a  ship  appears : 

At  length  it  drifts  toward  some  southern  shore, 


When,  lo!  'tis  vanish'd,  and  is  seen  no  more. 
Not  as  the  Rock  that  rears  its  ancient  head, 
Its  deep  foundations  laid  in  ocean's  bed; 
All  change  resists,  unalter'd  is  its  form. 
Amid  the  sunshine,  and  amid  the  storm, 
Unmoved  it  stands,  and  still  't  will  stand  secure, 
Long  as  the  moon,  and  as  the  sun  endure. 


The  Iceberg  lifts  its  towcrins:  sum- 
mit to  the  clouds,  sparkling  and  daz- 
zling like  a  group  of  temples  overlaid 


with  silver.  Its  crystalline  magnifi- 
cence is  bewildering;  it  forms  one  of 
the  most  splendid  objects  that  the  mar- 


12 


eelictIous  emblems 


iner  meets  with  in  the  northern  seas, 
and  at  the  same  time  one  of  the  most 


dangerous. 


It  is  a  floating  mass  with- 


out foundation ;  winds,  waves,  and 
currents  bear  it  along  in  all  directions. 
It  assumes  the  most  fantastic  shapes 
imaginable;  sometimes  it  looks  like 
mountains  piled  on  mountains;  then 
temples,  palaces,  and  ships  are  seen  by 
turns;  then  again  cathedrals,  of  every 
order  of  architecture,  appear  to  the 
eye  of  the  Avondering  beholder.  After 
awhile  it  drifts  out  of  the  highlatitndes 
into  milder  climes.  It  is  carried  to- 
ward the  southern  shores ;  the  sun  pours 
its  burning  rays  upon  the  mammoth 
temple;  turret  after  turret,  spire  after 
spire  disappear,  until  the  whole  has 
dissolved.     Its  glory  has  departed. 

How  very  different  is  the  nature  and 
destiny  of  the  Rock  that  is  seen  lift- 
ing its  time-worn  head  above  the  sur- 
rounding waves  !  It  is  probably  as  old 
as  time  itself ;  it  retains  its  ancient  po- 
sition; its  foundations  take  hold  of  the 
world ;  it  is  marked  in  the  charts,  men 
always  know  where  to  find  it,  and  are 
therefore  not  endangered  by  it.  Chang- 
ing the  form  of  the  element  that  sur- 
rounds it,  itself  unchanged,  the  sum- 
mer's sun  and  winter's  storm  alike 
pass  harmlessly  by  it.  It  is  one  of  the 
everlasting  hills,  it  must  abide  forever. 

The  engraving  is  an  emblem  of  True 
and  False  Principles.  False  principles 
are  represented  by  the  Iceberg.  Like 
the  iceberg,  they  are  without  a  foun- 
dation;   however   spacious,  brilliant, 


and  fascinating  their  appearance,  they 
have  no  solidity.  Like  it,  too,  they 
are  ever-changing;  their  form  receives 
its  various  impressions  from  the  ever- 
fluctuating  speculations  of  mankind, 
and  from  the  power  and  influence  of 
the  times.  Like  it,  they  are  cold  and 
cheerless  to  the  soul,  nipping  all  its 
budding  prospects,  cramping  all  its 
mighty  powers.  Like  the  iceberg,  also, 
false  principles  will  melt  away  Ijcfore 
the  burning  sun  of  truth,  and  pass  into 
oblivion.  It  will  not  do  to  trust  in  them. 
AVho  would  make  a  dwelling-house 
of  the  transitory  iceberg? 

It  is  not  so  with  true  principles; 
although  they  may  appear  somewhat 
homely  at  first  sight,  yet  the  more 
they  are  contemplated  the  more  they 
will  be  admired.  Like  the  Rock,  their 
foundations  are  laid  broad  and  deep. 
The  principles  of  truth  rest  on  the 
throne  of  God;  they  are  as  ancient  as 
eternity.  Like  the  Rock,  they  may 
always  be  found.  Are  they  not  writ- 
ten in  the  Holy  Bible  ?  Like  their  Au- 
thor, they  are  without  variableness  or 
shadow  of  turning;  for, 

"  Firm  as  a  Eock,  God's  Truth  must  stand 
When  rolling  years  shall  cease  to  move." 

Semfper  idem — "  Always  the  same  " — 
is  their  motto.  Like  the  Rock  of 
Ages,  true  principles  live  when  time 
shall  be  no  more.  As  are  the  prin- 
ciples, so  are  all  who  trust  in  them, 
for  "  the  righteous  shall  be  had  iu 
everlastina:  remembrance." 


E  E  L  I  G I O  U  S    EMBLEMS 


EXODUS, 

Chap,  xxiv: 

verse  6. 


PSALM 

XV : 

verse  2. 


PEOYEEBS, 
Chap,  xii: 
verse  17. 


DANIEL, 

Chap  iv : 
verse  37. 


1  PETEE, 

Cliap.  i : 
verse  22. 


JOHN, 
Chap,  iv; 
verse  24. 


JOHN", 

Chap,  xvii: 

verse  17. 


JOHN, 

Chap,  iii 
verse  18. 


TRUTH. 

Lord^  7cho  shall  abide  in  thy  tabernacle  ?     He  that  speaketh  truth 
in  his  heart.     Ps.  iv :  23. Thy  word  is  Truth.     John  xvii:  17. 


Truth,  glorious  truth,  of  heavenly  birth  and  fair, 
In  simple  msijesty  array'd,  is  there; 
Her  right  hand  holds  the  faithful  mirror  clear, 
Where  all  things  open  as  the  light  appear: 
Her  left,  upon  the  sacred  page  reclines, 
Where  unadultcrate  truth  resplendent  shines: 
The  world's  false  mask  she  tramples  down  with 

scorn, 
Adorn'd  the  most,  when  she  would  least  adorn. 
As  her  own  temple  on  the  margin  seen, 


Stands  forth  reflected  on  the  silver  stream; 

So  what  by  her  is  thought,  or  said,  or  done, 

Appears  conspicuous  as  the  noonday  sun; 

Truth  is  the  image  of  our  God  above. 

That  shines  reflected  in  his  sea  of  love. 

All  hail,   bless'd    Truth!    thou  daughter   of  tLf 

skies, 
Reign  thou  on  earth,  and  bid  earth's  sons  arise; 
Bid  Virtue  lead,  and  Justice  hold  the  scale, 
For  thou  art  mighty,  and  wilt  soon  prevail. 


Truth  is  represented  in  the  person 
of  an  artless  female.  She  is  attired 
■with  simplicity.  In  her  right  hand 
she  holds  a  mirror.  As  the  mirror 
reflects  ohjccts  that  pass  het'ore  it  as 
they  are,  without  addition,  alteration, 
or  diminution,  so  Truth  presents  ev- 
ery thing  just  as  it  is.  The  left  hand 
rests  on  the  Holy  Bible.     This  is  to 


show  that  it  is  from  thence  she  de- 
rives the  principles  which  regulate  her 
conduct,  the  source  of  nnadulterate<l 
truth  to  mankind.  She  is  seen  tramp- 
ling a  mask  beneath  her  feet.  It  is 
the^mask  of  hypocrisy,  which  she  re- 
jects with  scorn,  as  being  utterly  at 
variance  with  her  principles  and  feel- 
ings.    In  the  background  stands  the 


u 


EELIGIOTJS    EMBLEMS. 


Temple  of  Truth,  the  image  of  which 
is  plainly  reflected  by  the  clear,  pla- 
cid stream  that  glides  before  it. 

Truth,  in  an  evangelical  sense,  is 
all-important.  It  alone  will  give  char- 
acter to  an  individual,  more  than  all 
other  qualities  put  together.  It  is  of 
itself  a  rich  inheritance,  of  more  worth 
than  mines  of  silver  and  gold.  It  is 
more  ennobling  than  the  highest  titles 
conferred  by  princes.  Every  body  loves 
to  be  respected,  but  an  individual  to 
be  loved  and  respected  must  be  knoum. 
He  only  can  be  known  who  speaks  the 
truth  from  his  heart,  and  acts  the 
truth  in  his  life.  We  may  guess  at 
others,  but  as  we  do  not  know  we  can 
not  respect  them,  for  like  pirates  they 
oftentimes  sail  under  false  colors. 

"  Nothing  is  beautiful  except  Truth," 
is  a  maxim  of  the  French,  although  it 
has  been  most  deplorably  neglected. 
Nevertheless,  the  sentiment  is  correct. 
Truth  is  glorious  wherever  found; 
Jesus,  who  is  "  the  truth"  is  the  alto- 
gether lovely,  and  the  fairest  among 
ten  thousand.  Truth  is  the  glory  of 
youth,  and  the  diadem  of  the  aged. 
But  Truth  is  essential  to  happiness, 
both  in  this  world  and  also  in  the 
next.  For  "  what  man  is  he  that  de- 
sireth  life,  and  loveth  many  days  that 
he  may  see  good?  Ueep  thy  tongue 
from  evil,  and  thy  lips  from  speaking 
guile."  Lord,  who  shall  dwell  in  thy 
holy  hill !  He  that  "  speaketh  the 
truth."  It  is  related  of  Cyrus,  that, 
when  asked  what  w^as  the  first  thins: 


he  learned,  he  replied,  "  To  tell  the 
truth."  Cyrus  must  have  been  very 
fortunate  in  having  such  good  in- 
structors. Lord  Chesterfield  would 
have  instructed  him  diflerently. 

In  the  days  of  Daniel  (as  the  tra- 
dition says)  the  wise  men  were  or- 
dered by  the  king  to  declare  what  was 
the  strongest  thing  on  earth.  Each 
man  brought  in  his  answers ;  one  said 
loine  was  the  strongest,  another  men- 
tioned women;  Daniel  declared  that 
Truth  was  the  most  powerful,  which 
answer  pleased  the  king,  and  the  palm 
of  victory  was  decreed  to  Daniel. 

"Seize,  then,  on  truth  where'er  'tis  found, 
Among  your  friends,  among  your  foes ; 
On  Christian,  or  on  heathen  gi'ound, 
The  plant's  divine  where'er  it  grows." 

Let  not  mercy  and  truth  forsake 
thee ;  bind  them  about  thy  neck ;  write 
them  upon  the  table  of  thine  heart; 
so  shalt  thou  find  favor  and  good  un- 
derstanding in  the  sight  of  God  and 
man.     Prov.  Hi:  3. 

The  lip  of  truth  shall  be  established 
forever ;  but  a  lying  tongue  is  but  for 
a  moment.  ,  Prov.  xii :  19. 

Buy  the  truth  and  sell  it  not.  Prov. 
xii:  23.  Lie  not  against  the  truth. 
James  Hi:  11.  Speak  ye  every  man 
the  truth  to  his  neighbor;  execute  the 
judgment  of  truth.     Zech.  viii:  16. 

Lying  lips  are  an  abomination  to 
the  Lord :  but  they  that  deal  truly  are 
his  delisrht.     Prov.  xii:  23. 


EELIGIOUS    EMBLEMS, 


15 


1  COEINTH'NS, 

Chap,  xiii: 

verse  6. 


HEBEEWS 
Chap,  vi: 
verse  19. 


1  CORINTH'NS, 

Chap,  xiii: 

verse  7. 


1  GORINTH'NS 

Chap,  xiii 

verse  13. 


TRUTH 


AMOS, 

Chap,  xi: 

verse  4. 


COLOSSIANS, 
Chap,  ii: 
verse  2. 


EPHESIAXS, 

Chap,  iv:  ^ 

verse  .3. 


EPHESIANS, 
Chap,  iii: 
verse  19. 


SYMBOLS   OF   CHRISTIA:N"  FAITH. 

Till  we  all  come  in  the  unity  of  the  Faith.     JEphes.  iv:  13. 


See  on  the  right,  all-glorious,  Hope  doth  stand. 
And  gives  to  heavenly  Truth  the  plighted  hand; 
With  Seraph's  winga  outspread,  Love  stands  be- 
tween; 


And  binds  their  hearts  with  his  celestial  chain. 
These  are    Faith! s    emblems:     these  its   Parents 

three ; 
To  produce  Faith,  Hope,  Truth,  and  Love  agree. 


Christian  Faith  is  represented  by 
a  union  of  Truth,  Hope,  and  Love. 
The  hope  of  heaven  is  represented 
by  the  Apostle  Paul  as  the  anchor  of 
the  soul,  consequently  Hope  is  usually 
depicted  leaning  on  an  anchor.  She 
holds  Truth  by  the  hand,  showing 
that  they  must  be  in  close  alliance. 
Truth  holds  in  her  hand  the  Holy 
Bible  as  a  mirror,  whereby  sinful  men 
can  see  the  deformity  of  their  hearts. 
With  her  right  hand  she  receives  the 


overtures  of  Hope;  she  tramples 
under  her  feet  the  mask  of  Hypoc- 
risy; simple  and  unadorned,  she  re- 
jects the  cloak  of  dissimulation,  and 
casts  aside  all  concealment.  Love 
holds  the  middle  place,  and  strength- 
ens the  union  subsisting  between  Hope 
and  Truth.  Divine  Love  is  drawn  with 
wings  to  represent  her  heavenly  or^ 
igin. 

Faith  is  both  created  and  preserved 
by  Hope,   Truth,  aud    Love.      This 


16 


EELIGIOUS    EMBLEMS. 


triad  constitutes  its  efficient  cause. 
Truth  is  indeed  the  mother  of  Faith. 
Hope  assists  in  its  creation,  by  its  ex- 
pectations and  desires;  Love  nour- 
ishes and  reconciles,  and  thus  con- 
tributes to  lay  a  foundation  for 
Paith. 

True  faith,  as  represented  in  the 
Scriptures,  is  always  connected  with 
a  "  good  hope  through  grace."  The 
truths  of  God's  Word  form  the  only 
proper  objects  for  its  exercise.  "With- 
out Love  there  can  be  no  good  works, 
and  "  without  works  faith  is  dead." 
Christian  Faith,  as  described  above, 
is  distinguished  from  the  faith  of 
devils,  who  are  said  to  "  believe  and 
tremble"  because  they  have  no  hope; 
and  from  the  faith  of  wicked  men, 
who  "  love  not  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ," 
and  who  are  consequently  "  accursed ;" 
and  from  the  faith  of  the  carnal  pro- 
fessor, who  has  sold  the  truth  and  has 
pleasure  in  unrighteousness. 

The  proper  use  of  faith  is  to  bring 
us  to  God,  to  enable  us  to  obtain  the 
promises  contained  in  the  word  or 
truth  of  God.  If  Christ  had  not  been 
moved  by  love,  he  would  not  have 
suftered ;  if  he  had  not  suffered,  we 
should  have  had  no  promise  of  par- 
don ;  if  we  had  no  promises,  we  should 
have  no  hope;  if  we  have  no  hope, 
we  shall  have  no  saving  faith  in  the 
mercy  of  God.  Christ  is  set  forth  a 
refuge  for  sinners ;  he  saves  all  who 
flee  for  refuge  to  the  hope  set  before 
them;  but  those  only  who  believe  in 
him,  flee  to  him.     Faith,  then,  is  an 


instrument  of  salvation ;  "  by  grace 
are  ye  saved  through  Faith." 

The  sinner  hears,  and  gives  cre- 
dence to  the  Faith  of  God;  the  ter- 
rors of  the  Almighty  take  fast  hold 
upon  him;  his  sins  weigh  him  down 
to  the  dust;  but  hark!  the  voice  of 
heavenly  love  is  heard  proclaiming, 
"  Come  unto  me  all  ye  that  are  weary 
and  heavy  laden,  and  I  will  give  you 
rest."  He  looks  upward ;  Hope  springs 
up;  he  ventures  on  the  Redeemer, 
"who  justifies  the  ungodly;"  his  faith 
has  saved  him.  It  is  counted  to  him 
for  righteousness,  and  being  justified 
by  it,  he  has  peace  with  God,  through 
our  Lord  Jesus  Christ. 

A  celebrated  divine  once  gave  his 
little  child  an  illustration  of  the  na- 
ture of  Faith  in  the  following  man- 
ner: The  child  had  a  beautiful  string 
of  beads,  with  which  she  was  much 
delighted.  Her  father  spoke  to  her, 
say.ng,  "Come,  my  child,  throw  those 
beautiful  beads  into  the  fire,  and  I 
will,  in  the  course  of  a  few  days,  give 
you  something  far  more  beautiful  and 
valuable."  The  child  looked  up  into 
the  face  of  her  father  with  astonish- 
ment; after  looking  for  a  time,  and 
seeing  he  was  in  earnest,  she  cast  her 
beautiful  toys  into  the  fire,  and  then 
burst  into  tears !  Here  was  Faith. 
The  child  believed  her  father  spoke 
the  truth ;  she  expected,  or  had  a  hope, 
he  would  fulfill  his  promises;  and 
confiding  in  his  Love,  she  was  will- 
ing to  obey  him,  though  it  cost  her 
tears. 


E  E  L  I  Cr  I  O  U  S    EMBLEMS 


17 


HEBREWS, 

Chap,  xii: 
verse  14. 


PSALM 

xxvi: 
verse  1. 


PROYERBS, 

Chap,  ii : 
verse  20. 


PROVERBS, 
Chap,  x: 
verse  9. 


REVELATIONS 

Chap,  xvl : 

verse  15. 


1  TIMOTHY, 
Chap,  v: 
verse  22. 


EPHESIANS, 
Chap,  v: 
verse  13. 


1  PETER, 
Chap,  i: 
verse  15. 


THE    WAY"   OF   HOLTKESS. 

And  an  'higJunay  shall  be  there,  and  a  way;  and  it  shall  be  called 
The  way  of  holiness;  the  unclean  shall  not  pass  over  it.  Isa., 
XXXV :  8. 


There  is  a  place,  a  Holy  place  above, 
Where  Angels  holy  dwell  in  light  and  love; 
Tliere  is  a  God,  a  Holy  God,  who  reigns. 
And  holy  empire  over  all  maintains; 
There  is  a  -way,  a  holy  way,  whose  road 
The  holy  Pilgrim  brings  to  heaven  and  God: 
See!  on  that  way  the  holy  Pilgrim  hies, 


Nor  doubts  at  Inst  't  will  send  him  to  the  skies. 
With  robes  entire   and  garments  clean  and  white, 
He  walks  with  joy  along  the  plains  of  light. 
S&e!  one  has  left  the  holy  way  divine, 
His  clothes  are  soiled,  he  wallows  now  with  swine; 
Alone,  the  Pilgrim  on  his  pathway  speeds. 
And  leaves  th'  apostate  to  his  worldly  deeds. 


See  where  the  way  of  Holiness 
stands  cast  up.  It  is  strongly  built 
and  conspicuous  to  all  beholders;  a 
pilgrim  is  seen  walking  thereon  tri- 
umphantly and  secure;  his  garments 
are  unsullied  and  untorn.  Down  off 
the  way  is  one  wallowing  in  the  mire; 
.  8ee  how  he  grubs  up  the  iilthy  lucre. 
His  garments  are  rent  and  soiled; 
2 


the  beastly  swine  are  his  chosen  com- 
panions. 

This  is  an  emblem  of  Holiness,  and 
of  its  professors.  The  upright  con- 
duct of  the  pious  is  called  a  "  Avay," 
a  "  highway,"  and  "  The  way  of  Holi- 
ness." It  is  a  way  of  safety,  "  Xo 
lion  shall  be  there,"  and  "  the  way- 
faring man,  though  a  fool  [illiterate], 


18 


RELIGIOUS    EMBLEMS. 


shall  not  err  therein."  The  Pilgrim 
pursuing  his  journey,  with  his  gar- 
ments unsullied  and  untorn,  denotes 
the  Christian  "  walking  in  all  the 
commandments  and  ordinances  of  the 
Lord  blameless."  "  The  fine  linen, 
clean  and  white,  is  the  righteousness 
of  the  saints."  The  man  among  the 
swine  signifies  an  Apostate  from  God 
and  Holiness;  he  has  "left  oft"  to  do 
good ;"  the  love  of  the  world  has  again 
taken  possession  of  him;  "  he  has 
turned  as  the  dog  to  his  vomit  again, 
and  as  the  sow  that  was  washed  to 
her  wallowing  in  the  mire." 

Holiness  in  man  consists  in  obedi- 
ence to  the  divine  commands — in  lov- 
ing God  supremely — in  loving  our 
neighbor  as  ourselves.  Man,  by  na- 
ture and  by  practice,  is  sinful,  and 
sin  is  superlatively  selfish.  A  selfish- 
ness pervades  the  heart,  which  is  en- 
mity against  God.  It  is  not  subject 
to  the  law  of  God,  neither  indeed  can 
be,  consequently  the  love  of  Goddwell- 
eth  not  in  the  selfish  heart. 

Selfishness  is  the  prolific  source  of 
every  vice,  giving  birth  to  oppression, 
falsehood,  injustice,  and  covetousness, 
producing  outbreaks  of  the  basest  pas- 
sions, such  as  env}',  wrath,  malice, 
pride,  revenge,  which  end  in  crimes 
of  deepest  guilt. 

On  the  other  hand,  Holiness  is  bound- 
lessly benevolent;  it  embraces  God,  it 
embraces  the  world.  It  gives  to  God 
the  sincere  worship  of  an  undivided 
heart. 

It  gives  to  man  the  generous  activ- 
ities of  a  useful  life.  The  man  of  ho- 
liness is  the  almoner  of  a  world.  The 
Law  of  Jehovah  is  the  proper  stand- 
ard of  holiness;  the  Almighty  himself 


the  only  proper  model  for  stud}'  and 
imitation;  therefore,  of  the  man  of 
Holiness  it  is  said,  "  The  law  of  God 
is  in  his  heart,  none  of  his  steps  shall 
slide."  And  hence  it  is  written,  "Be 
ye  holy,  for  I  am  holy."  Hence  we 
may  learn  that  the  subject  is  one  of 
great  importance,  since  whatever  we 
may  possess  beside,  without  holiness, 
no  one  shall  see  the  Lord;  it  is  the 
wedding-garment  which  renders  the 
guest  welcome  at  the  marriage  supper 
of  the  Lamb ;  it  is  the  fine  linen,  clean 
and  white,  which  is  the  righteousness 
of  the  saints.  Thus  it  signifies  a  prep- 
aration for  eternal  glory. 

Holiness  and  happiness  are  divine 
sisters;  twins,  always  seen  together. 
God  has  stamped  the  seal  of  his  ap- 
probation on  every  thing  approaching 
to  innocence  and  purity;  it  is  seen  in 
nature — the  roar  of  the  lion,  the  fierce 
howling  of  the  wolf  is  the  language 
of  disquietude  and  of  blood,  striking 
terror  into  the  boldest  heart;  while 
the  cooing  of  the  turtle-dove,  the  bleat- 
ing of  the  fleecy  lamb,  speak  the  lan- 
guage of  innocence  and  peace.  We 
may  visit  the  mansions  of  the  rich, 
the  castles  of  the  powerful,  or  the 
palaces  of  kings,  yet  if  holiness  be 
wanting,  in  vain  do  we  search  for 
happiness.     It  is  not  there. 

We  may  visit  the  abodes  of  the 
poor,  the  cottage  of  the  afflicted,  the 
hovel  of  the  dying.  If  we  find  the 
inmates  in  possession  of  holiness,  there 
also  we  find  happiness;  poverty  does 
not  expel  her,  aifliction  does  not  drive 
her  away,  death  even  can  not  pro- 
nounce a  divorce;  united  are  they  in 
life,  undivided  in  death,  inseparable 
to  all  eternity. 


KELIGIOUS    EMBLEMS. 


19 


ISAIAH, 

Chap,  xl : 
verse  8. 


HEBEEWS, 
Chap,  iv: 
verse  12. 


LUKE, 

Chap,  iv: 
verse  32. 


,  PSALM 

cxxxviii: 
verse  2. 


JOEL, 
Chap,  ii: 
verse  11. 


MATTHEW, 

Chap,  xxiv: 

verse  35. 


PSALM 

cxix : 
verse  89. 


PSALM 

cxix : 

verse  160. 


THE    WEIGHT    OF    GOD'S    WORD. 
Wie  have  also  a  more  sure  word  of  prophecy.     2  Pet.  i :  9. 


Look  where  the  impartial  balance  hangs  on  high, 
The  Almighty's  word  against  weak  man's  to  try; 
Huge  folios  rare,  and  many  a  bulky  bale, 
Are  brought,  and  laid  upon  the  even  scale: 
Of  "Council's"  records  many  a  tome  is  sent. 
From  the  great  Nicean,  down  to  that  of  Trent; 
"  Creeds,"  "  isms,''  creatures  of  the  human  thought, 


Ancient  and  modern,  are  together  brought; 

And  "  Fathers  "  numerous,  a  learned  line 

From  Pseudo-Barnabas  to  Augustine; 

The  Bible  now,  of  Protestants  the  pride, 

Is  placed  alone  upon  the  other  side: 

Creeds,  Councils,  Fathers,  isms,  twenty  ream, 

Fly  up  like  chaff,  and  straightway  kick  the  beam. 


A  pair  of  scales  are  shown  of  equal 
balance,  one  side  of  which  is  loaded 
witli  books,  packages,  and  parch- 
ments. Here  are  the  minutes  of 
eighteen  general  councils,  beginning 
with  that  held  in  Nice,  in  the  year  of 
our  Lord  325,  and  ending  with  that 
of  Trent,  which  began  in  the  year 
1545,  and  closed  in  1563,  with  many 
others.  Tl)ere  are  also  the  writings 
of  the  "  Fathers,"  from  those  ascril)ed 
to  Barnabas,  but  considered  spurious, 


downward.  Then  there  are  Creeds 
without  number,  both  of  ancient  and 
modern  date;  next  follow  the  various 
isms  of  the  day,  that  set  thomselve(<i 
up  against  the  Word  of  God.  These 
j  are  all  placed  on  one  scale;  the  Bible 
is  now  brought  and  placed  on  the 
other,  when,"lo!  "Creeds,  Councils, 
Fathers,  and  isms"  are  but  as  the  dust 
of  the  balance.  Ligliter  than  vanity, 
they  fly  up  and  ki^k  the  beam;  one 
Bible  outweiirlis  them  all. 


20 


EELIGIOUS    EMBLEMS, 


This  emblem  is  designed  to  show 
the  authority  of  the  Bible  over  the 
doctrines  and  commandments  of  men. 
"When  the  lion  roars,  the  beasts  of  the 
forests  keep  silence ;  when  Jehovah 
speaks,  the  inhabitants  of  the  world 
ought  to  stand  in  awe.  During  the 
space  of  fifteen  hundred  years,  God 
uttered  his  voice  in  the  ears  of  the 
children  of  men.  He  has  declared 
his  will,  and  sanctioned  such  revela- 
tion by  the  repeated  manifestations 
of  his  almighty  power.  He  emploj^ed 
holy  men  as  the  authorized  recorders 
of  his  laws,  and  closed  the  whole  with 
the  denouncement  of  a  curse  against 
all  who  should  add  to  or  diAnish 
therefrom. 

Notwithstanding  this,  there  have 
been  men  in  all  ages  who  have  set 
up  their  will  against  that  of  the  great 
Jehovah.  They  have  made  a  record 
of  the  same,  forbidding  what  God  has 
commanded,  and  ordaining  what  God 
has  prohibited.  Thus,  by  their  tra- 
ditions, they  make  void  the  laws  of 
the  Eternal.  What  folly  is  this !  what 
blasphemy!  what  rebellion!  The 
words  of  the  Lord  are  tried,  pure,  and 
everlasting;  those  of  men  are  short- 
weight,  corrupt,  and  are  passing  away. 
By  the  laws  of  God,  not  by  the  opin- 
ions of  men,  we  shall  be  judged  at 
the  last  day. 

Terribly  has  the  curse  fallen  upon 


those  who  have  established  human 
opinions  in  opposition  to  the  Word 
of  God ;  witness  the  Jews,  who,  since 
the  fatal  overthrow  of  their  city,  have 
been  vagabonds  over  all  the  face  of 
the  earth.  Witness  the  poverty,  ig- 
norance, and  misery  of  those  parts  of 
the  world  where  human  creeds  pre- 
vail, and  where  the  Bible  is  rejected; 
yea,  witness  in  the  case  of  every  man 
who  substitutes  his  will  for  God's. 
To  the  law  and  to  the  testimony,  if" 
they  speak  not  according  to  this  word, 
it  is  because  there  is  no  light  in 
them. 

All  scripture  is  given  by  inspira- 
tion of  God,  and  is  profitable  for  doc- 
trine, for  reproof,  for  correction,  for 
instruction  in  righteousness.  2  Tim. 
Hi:  16. 

Search  the  Scriptures.  Matt,  xxii: 
29. 

We  thank  God  without  ceasing, 
because  when  we  received  the  Word 
of  God  which  ye  heard  of  us,  ye  re- 
ceived it  not  as  the  word  of  men,  but 
as  it  is  of  truth,  the  Word  of  God. 
1  Thess.  ii:  13. 

Ye  shall  not  add  unto  the  word 
which  I  command  you,  neither  shall 
ye  diminish  aught  from  it.  Deut.  iv :  2. 

If  any  man  shall  add  unto  these 
things,  God  shall  add  unto  him  the 
plagues  that  are  written  in  this  book. 
Bev,  xxi:  18. 


EELIGIOUS    EMBLEMS 


21 


1  COEINTH'NS, 

Chap,  ix: 
verse  25. 


HEBEEWS, 

Chap,  xii: 

verse  1. 


2  TIMOTHY, 

Chap,  iv: 

verse  7. 


MATTHEW, 
■Chap,  x: 
verse  22. 


HEBEEWS, 
Chap,  iii: 
verse  14. 


LUKE, 

Chap,  xiii: 

verse  25. 


HEBEEWS, 

Chap,  xii: 

verse  2. 


2  TIMOTHY, 

Chap  ii : 
verse  2. 


THE    CHRISTIAN    RACE. 
So  run  that  ye  may  obtain.     1  Cor.  ix:  24. 


Behold!  the  race-course  here  before  us  lies; 
See!  many  running  for  the  glorious  prize; 
Some  sweat  and  toil,  and  mauger  all  their  pains, 
Small  is  their  progress,  smaller  still  their  gains. 
With  weights  oppress'd,  of  sordid  gold  and  care, 


They  run  awhile,  then  give  up  in  despair. 
But  one  is  seen  whose  speed  outstrips  tlie  wind, 
Tlie  laggers  all  he  quickly  leaves  behind; 
Conformd  to  rule,  he  casts  all  burdens  down, 
And  presses  forward  to  receive  the  crown. 


In  his  exhortations  to  Christians, 
the  great  apostle  of  the  Gentiles  very 
often  alludes  to  the  Olj-mpic  games. 
These  games  were  celebrated  in  dif- 
ferent parts  of  Greece,  particularly  on 
the  isthmus  wliich  joined  the  Morca 
to  the  main  land ;  hence  called  the 
Isthmian  exercises.  They  were  held 
on  the  banks  of  the  river  Alpheus, 
near  01ymi)ia,  a  city  of  Elis.  They 
were  considered  of  so  much  impor- 
tance, that  from  the  period  of  their 
lirst  regular  establishment  a  new  era 
of  reckoning  time   was   constituted, 


just  as  we  reckon  from  the  birth  ot 
Jesus  Christ,  Each  Olympiad  con- 
sisted of  four  3'ears;  hence  they  dated 
events  from  the  first,  second,  third,  or 
fourth  year  of  any  particular  Olym- 
])iad.  The  first  Olympiad  commenced 
776  years  before  the  Christian  era. 
These  exercises  consisted  of  five  dif- 
ferent kinds,  viz.:  boxing,  wrestling, 
leaping,  the  quoit,  and  racing.  "We 
confine  ourselves  to  the  illustration  of 
the  latter.  The  celebration  of  the 
nmning-match  excited  great  interest. 
Hence,  the  preparation  for  these  fee- 


K  E  L  I  G I O  U  S    EMBLEMS. 


tivals  was  ver^'  s^reat.  No  man  could 
become  a  candidate  for  the  prize  un- 
less he  bore  a  good  character,  and 
regularly  exercised  himself  ten  months 
previously,  according  to  the  rules  pre- 
'scribed. 

The  rules  were  very  severe  ;  a  strict 
regimen  had  to  be  observed,  unpalata- 
ble food  to  be  eaten,  abstinence  from 
all  luxuries;  exercises  were  to  be  con- 
tinued through  all  weathers,  and  we 
know  not  what  besides.  And  now  the 
grand  day  has  arrived;  the  judge  is 
appointed,  having  been  previously- 
sworn  to  deal  impartially;  the  race- 
course is  cleared,  the  place  of  start- 
ing iixed,  the  judge  takes  his  seat  at 
the  goal,  or  end  of  the  race-ground, 
and  holds  in  his  hand  the  crown  of 
olive,  or  of  laurel,  destined  to  grace 
the  victor's  brow;  officers  are  appoint- 
ed to  keep  order.  The  city  is  emptied 
of  its  inhabitants;  all  the  principal 
men  are  there.  The  candidates  make 
their  appearance;  every  eye  is  fixed 
upon  them,  every  heart  is  in  motion. 
Divested  of  all  needless  clothing,  some- 
times naked,  they  await  the  signal;  'tis 
given — off  they  start.  Not  a  whisper 
is  heard  among  all  that  multitude; 
Avith  intense  interest  they  watch  the 
runners  as  they  pass  along.  A  shout 
is  heard.  The  victor  returns,  like  a 
triumphant  conqueror,  drawn  in  a 
chariot  of  four,  wearing  the  crown  of 
victory,  and  is  every-where  greeted 
with  the  acclamations  of  the  people. 


E-eligion  is  compared  to  a  race;  the 
stadium,  or  race-ground,  is  the  path  of 
piety  leading  through  this  "world  to 
the  next;  the  runners  are  those  who 
profess  religion  ;  the  officers  appoint- 
ed to  keep  order,  the  ministers  of  the 
Gospel;  the  spectators,  men  and  an« 
gels;  the  judge,  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ; 
the  reward,  a  crown  of  righteousness. 

Let  us  imagine  a  company  of  young 
pei'sons  just  commencing  the  Christian 
race.  They  set  oft'  together;  the  di- 
rections are  given  to  all ;  they  are  four 
in  number:  1.  Be  sure  to  lay  aside  ev- 
ery iveight;  2.  Relinquish  the  besetting 
sin;  3.  Exercise  patience ;  4.  Look  to 
Jesus.  They  go  along  pretty  well  for 
awhile.  Soon  one  is  seen  lagging  be- 
hind. What  is  the  matter?  He  has 
too  much  weight  about  him.  An- 
other drops  oft';  his  besetting  sin  has 
prevailed.  A  third  is  missing;  what 
ails  him?  0,  he  is  out  of  patience — 
with  God,  himself,  and  every  body  be- 
sides. Some  follow  the  directions,  per- 
severe to  the  end,  and  obtain  the  prize. 
But  mark;  of  those  who  run  in  the 
Grecian  games,  one-  only  could  receive 
the  prize.  In  the  Christian  race,  all 
may  run  so  as  to  obtain.  The  judge 
there  was  sometimes  partial;  the 
Christian's  Umpire  is  the  '■'•Righteous 
JudgeP  The  successful  candidate, 
after  all  his  labors,  obtained  only  a 
garland  of  withering  flowers;  the 
Christian  receives  a  glorious  "  crown 
of  righteousness  that  fadeth  not  away." 


IIELIGIOUS    EMBLEMS 


23 


PSALM 

xviii: 
verse  2. 


PSALM 

xviii: 

verse  6. 


PSALM 

Ixix: 
verse  15. 


EOMANS, 

Chap,  x: 
verse  13. 


^ 


ISAIAH, 

Chap,  xii : 

verse  2. 


1  TIMOTHY, 

Chap,  i : 
verse  15. 


THESSAL'NS, 

Chap,  v: 
verses  9,  10. 


EEVELATIONS 

Chap.  V : 
verse  9. 


SALVATION. 

In  God  is  my  salvation  and  my  glory;  the  rock  of  my  strength, 
and  my  refuge,  is  in  God.     Ps.  Ixii:  7. 


Lo!  where  amid  appalling  dangers  dread, 

The  rock  undaunted  lifts  its  welcome  head; 

The  ship  of  commerce  gayl}'  sail'd  along, 

All  hands  were  merry  with  their  evening  song; 

'^Vhen,  lo!  they  scud  before  a  sudden  blast, 

The  sails  are  shiver'd,  broken  is  the  mast; 

The  ship  is  wreck'd,  the  storm  rolls  wildly  round. 

The  sinking  sailors  have  no  footing  found. 

In  drowning  plight,  stunned  by  the  wave's  rude 

shock, 
The  lightning  kindly  points  them  to  the  rock; 
The  Rock  they  grasp,  and  raise  tliemselves  on  high. 
In  conscious  safety  bid  the  storm  pass  by. 


So  when   mankind   were    wreck'd   on   Eden's 
shore, 
Loud  was  the  tempest,  loud  the  thunder's  roar; 
Earth,  sea,  and  skies  affrighted  were,  and  toss'd, 
Tumultuous  all.     Shall  men  be  saved,  or  lost? 
In  that  wild  ocean  of  despair  and  dread. 
The  Rock  of  Ages  lifts  his  lofty  head; 
The  sinner,  sinking,  stunn'd  by  Sinai's  shock. 
By  Sinai's  lightning,  now  beholds  the  Rock: 
With  glad  surprise,  more  clear  his  moral  sight, 
He  sees  besides,  a  cross  of  heavenly  light; 
The  Rock  he  clambers,  to  the  cros.'<  he  clings. 
And  saved  from  danger,  of  Salvation  sings. 


A  short  time  since,  and  that  vessel  I  sweet  home,  vras  the  theme  ■which 
was  sailino^  calmly  and  securely  over  I  gladdened  every  heart.  But,  ah !  thon 
the  soft,  blue  wuvq.  The  voice  of  treacherous  sea!  Thou  deceitful  wind! 
sonor  arose,  and  minoflod  it«  melodies  ITow  chanofed  the  scene!  The  voice 
with   the   light   air  around.     Home,    of  song  is  departed,  joy  and  gladness 


24 


EELIGIOUS    EMBLEMS. 


are  no  more.  Instead  of  the  music  of 
soft  symphonies,  are  heard  the  clam- 
ors of  despair,  the  thunder's  mighty 
roar — old  ocean's  harsh  sounds,  and 
the  howling  of  the  storm.  The  ship 
is  driven  fiercely  before  the  gale,  sails 
are  rent,  one  of  the  masts  is  gone  by 
the  board,  ruin  steers  the  ill-fated 
ship;  she  strikes  upon  a  reef,  the  bil- 
lows roll  over  her,  the  crew  are  washed 
overboard.  Night  thickens  around 
with  his  stormy  horrors  ;  manfully  the 
drowning  wretches  buffet  the  waves; 
the  lightning  flings  its  lurid  glare 
around,  and  shows  them  their  aw^ful 
condition ;  again  it  lightens,  and  they 
descry  a  rock,  lifting  its  head  above 
the  billows,  and  promising  a  place  of 
safety.  Hope  revives ;  they  swim  for 
the  rock;  soon  "they  make  it."  See! 
they  have  got  upon  it.  Now  they  are 
safe! 

The  vessel,  sailing  joyfully  and  se- 
curely before  the  gale  began,  may  rep- 
resent the  safe  and  happy  condition 
of  our  first  parents  before  they  were 
assailed  by  the  storms  of  temptation ; 
the  drowning  mariners  denote  the  de- 
plorable state  of  mankind  since  the 
fall,  who  are  sinking  amid  the  waves 
of  guilt  and  woe ;  the  tempest  over- 
head denotes  the  storm  that  howls 
over  the  head  of  every  sinner,  in  con- 


sequence of  the  violation  of  Jehovah's 
law.  Sinai  thunders  forth  its  curses, 
and  flashes  its  lightnings  around  the 
sinner's  path,  in  order  to  show  him 
his  weakness,  his  guilt,  and  his  dan- 
ger. As  the  lightning  points  the 
drowning  sailor  to  the  rock,  so  the 
law  directs  or  opens  the  way  to  Christ, 
that  the  sinner  might  be  justified  by 
faith  in  the  atonement. 

The  rock,  rising  in  the  troubled 
ocean,  aftbrding  a  shelter  from  the 
shipwreck,  represents  Christ,  the  Eock 
of  Ages,  who  has  borne  all  the  fury 
of  the  storm  for  man,  and  who,  by  his 
cross,  giveth  life  and  light  to  a  dying 
world.  The  penitent  sinner,  feeling 
himself  sinking  in  the  mighty  waters, 
and  tremblingly  alive  to  all  the  dan- 
gers of  the  tempest  above,  and  to  the 
more  fearful  dangers  of  the  rolling 
waves  beneath,  escapes  to  the  Rock, 
embraces  the  cross,  and  is  safe;  i.  e., 
he  believes  in  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ, 
and  is  saved. 


Jesus,  lover  of  my  soul, 

Let  me  to  thy  bosom  fly, 
While  the  nearer  waters  roll. 

While  the  tempest  still  is  high. 
Hide  me,  0,  my  Savior,  hide, 

Till  the  storm  of  life  is  past; 
Safe  into  the  haven  guide, 

0,  receive  my  soul  at  last. 


KELItMOUS    EMBLEMS 


25 


2  OOEINTH'NS, 
Chap,  x: 
verse  4. 


1  TIMOTHY, 
Chap,  i: 
verse  18. 


1  PETEPt, 

Chaj).  V : 

verses  8,  9. 


EPHESIA^S, 

Chap,  vi: 
verse  17. 


EPHESIANS, 

Chap,  vi: 
verses  14,  15. 


X  COEIXTU'NS, 
Chap,  ix: 
verse  2G. 


2  TIMOTHY, 
Chap,  ii: 
verse  3. 


EPHESIAXS, 

Chap,  vi: 
verse  11. 


THE    CHRISTIAN    SOLDIER. 

And  having  done  ally  to  stand.     Ephes.  vi:  13. 


The  Christian  hero  here  has  made  his  stand, 

Obedient  to  his  Captain's  great  command; 

In  panoply  divine,  equipped  complete. 

No  danger  dreads,  no  foe  he  fears  to  meet: 

Truth  wove  the  girdle  that  his  loins  adorn, 

This  bears  him  scathless  through  the  battle's  storm. 

A  Sense  of  pardon  guards  each  vital  part, 

Aud  forms  the  Breastplate  tliat  defends  his  heart. 

For  brazen  Greaves,  obedience  he  takes. 


Through  thorny  paths,  his  onward  progress  makee. 
"Hope  of  Salvation''  is  his  helmet  fair; 
Though  oft  perplexed,  it  saves  him  from  despair. 
He  wields,  and  not  in  vain,  a  trusty  sword, 
A  right  good  blade  it  is,  Jehovah's  word; 
The  Spirit's  weapon,  'twill  each  knot  untie, 
Each  foe  disarm,  and  make  Apollyon  fly: 
O'er  all  the  rest  he  grasps  Faith's  mighty  shield. 
And  onward  rushes  to  the  battle-field. 


As  soon  as  one  enlists  himself  as 
a  soldier  of  Jesus  Christ,  that  mo- 
ment the  world  becomes  his  enemy. 
It  happens  to  him  as  it  fell  out  to  the 
Gibeonites;  when  they  made  peace 
with  Joshua,  the  neic^hborins:  nations 
were  highly  offended,  and  said  to  one 
another,  "  Come,  let  us  unite  our 
forces  that  we  may  smite  Gibeon,  for 


it  hath  made   j^eace  with  Joshua,  and 
loith  the  children  of  Israel." 

But  there  are  other  foes,  more 
mighty  and  fearful,  against  whom  he 
has  to  contend.  Satan,  after  G,000 
years'  practice  in  the  art  of  destroy- 
in<r  souls,  is  a  powerful  opponent. 
"  He  goeth  about  as  a  roaring  lion, 
seeking  whom  he  may  devour;"  for 


26 


EELIGIOUS    EMBLEMS, 


we  wrestle  not  against  flesh  and  blood, 
merely,  but  "  against  principalities, 
against  powers,  against  the  rulers  of 
the  darkness  of  the  world,  against 
spiritual  wickedness  in  high  places." 
"Wherefore,"  on  this  account,  "take 
unto  you  the  whole  armor  of  God,  that 
ye  may  be  able  to  withstand  in  the  evil 
day,  and  having  done  all,  to  stand." 

There  are  two  kinds  of  armor,  of- 
fensive and  defensive;  one  to  attack 
the  foe,  the  otber  to  protect  ourselves. 
It  is  remarkable  that  but  one  weapon 
is  mentioned  by  tbe  Apostle  as  be- 
longing to  the  offensive  kind,  viz. :  the 
sword ;  all  the  rest  are  defensive. 
Among  the  Grecian  warriors  there 
were  at  least  nine  different  weapons 
with  which  they  assailed  their  ene- 
mies, yet  the  Apostle  thinks  that  for 
the  Christian  this  is  enough. 

The  Captain  of  our  salvation  has 
provided  us  with  all  that  is  necessary 
for  the  Christian  warfare.  Is  our  head 
exposed  to  the  assaults  of  the  devil? 
He  has  furnished  us  with  a  "  helmet" 
to  guard  it;  this  is  called,  in  another 
place,  the  hope  of  Salvation.  This 
good  hope  prepares  the  soldier  for  the 
warfare,  upholds  him  in  it,  and  brings 
him  off  a  conqueror.  Is  the  heart 
liable  to  be  pierced?  There  is  a  breast- 
plate provided  to  protect  it ;  it  is  the 
breastplate  of  Righteoasness ;  this  is  a 
consciousness  not  only  of  his  own  sin- 
cerity, but  also  of  his  favorable  ac- 
ceptance with  God.  He  feels  that  he 
is  honest  in  his  profession  of  attach- 


ment to  the  Savior,  and  that  Christ, 
his  Captain,  acknowledges  him  for  a 
true  soldier. 

The  feet  being  exposed  to  injuries, 
a  pair  of  brass  boots  are  given  to  pro- 
tect them.  It  would  not  have  an- 
swered any  good  j^urpose  to  protect 
the  head,  oftentimes,  unless  the  feet 
likewise  were  provided  for.  If  the  feet 
were  wounded,  the  soldier  could  not 
stand  to  fight  the  foe ;  neither  could 
he  pursue  him  if  conquered.  The 
greaves  simply  prompt  obedience  to 
the  Captain's  commands;  with  this, 
rough  places  become  as  plain,  and  the 
crooked  as  straight. 

The  girdle  is  given  to  keep  the  rest  of 
the  armor  in  its  place,  and  to  strength- 
en the  loins.  "  Truth"  accomplishes 
this  for  the  Christian  soldier.  By  this 
he  discovers  who  are  his  enemies,  their 
mode  of  attack,  and  the  best  way  to 
resist  them.  A  shield  also  is  provided ; 
it  is  called  the  shield  of  faith,  by  which 
he  is  able  to  quench  all  the  fiery  darts 
of  the  evil  one.  Finally,  a  sword  is 
put  into  his  hands ;  with  this  he  is  to 
inflict  deadly  wounds  on  all  his  foes; 
it  is  called  the  Sword  of  the  Spirit,  be- 
cause the  "Word  of  God  was  inspired 
by  the  Holy  Spirit.  "Wherewithal 
shall  a  young  man  cleanse  his  way  but 
by  taking  heed  thereto  according  to 
thy  word  ?"  By  the  clear  instruction, 
by  the  powerful  motives,  and  by  the 
glorious  encouragement  of  the  Word 
of  God,  the  Christian  soldier  puts  all 
his  foes  to  flight. 


EELIGIOUS    EMBLEMS. 


27 


MATTHEW, 

Chap,  vi: 
vei'se  24. 


JAMES, 
Chap,  iv : 
verse  4. 


MATTHEW, 

Chap,  xix: 

verse  24. 


ISAIAH, 

Chap.  Ixix: 

verse  6. 


PEO  VERBS, 

Chap,  xxvi: 

verse  1. 


PSALM 

xlix: 
verse  12. 


JOHN, 

Chap,  v: 
verse  44. 


3IATTHEW, 

Chap  xix : 

verse  17. 


THE    STRAIT    AXD    :N'ARROVr    GATE. 

Strait  is  the  gate,  and  narrow  is  the  way,  which  leadeth  unto  life, 
and  few  there  be  that  find  it.     Matt,  vii:  14. 


The  gate  contracted,  here  is  brought  to  view, 
And  narrow  path  that  runs  directly  through. 
One  tliere  is  seen,  who  strives  with  all  his  might 
To  pass  the  gate  that  leads  to  heavenly  light; 
Strong  drink,  the  deadly  dram,  is  cast  away, 
And  on  his  knees,  devout,  begins  to  pray. 
Self-righteousness  to  enter  next  proceeds, 
Alas  for  him!  how  heavily  he  treads! 
His  weary  back  a  monstrous  burden  bears 
Of  legal  deeds,  and  unavailing  prayers. 


He  can  not  enter,  for  the  gate  is  small; 
He  must  unload  him,  or  not  pass  at  all. 
Dives  has  fallen,  gone  quite  off  the  track, 
And  on  the  wicket  gate  has  turned  his  back. 
Another,  heedless  of  Jehovah's  laws. 
Dreams  he  can  enter  with  the  world's  applause: 
Honor  and  glorj%  pomp  of  things  below. 
Can  never  through  the  straitened  passage  go. 
Thus  sinners  all — to  sensual  pleasures  given — 
Remain  excluded  from  the  gate  of  Heaven. 


The  first  object  presented  in  the 
group  is  a  reformed  dmnkiird.  See! 
he  has  thrown  away  strong  drinks; 
he  is  determined  to  agonize — to  enter 
in  at  the  strait  gate.  Many  tipplers 
seek  to  gain  admission,  but  it  will  not 
do;  over  the  gate  is  written,  iu  char- 


acters of  living  light,  "  iSTo  drunkard 
shall  inherit  the  kingdom  of  God." 

The  next  figure  shows  a  num  pro- 
fessedly in  the  strait  and  narrow  way, 
but  he  has  such  a  large  mass,  or  bun- 
dle of  self-righteousness  on  his  back, 
it  will  be  seen  at  the  first  glance  that 


28 


EELiaiOUS    EilBLEMS, 


it  is  impossible  for  liim  to  get  through 
the  gate  or  passage.  "  All  our  right- 
eousness," which  we  may  bring  with 
us  when  seeking  salvation,  "  are  as 
filthy  rags;"  and.  the  more  we  have 
of  them,  the  more  impossible  it  will 
be  for  us  to  enter  the  strait  gate. 
Man,  in  order  to  be  saved,  must  feel, 
himself  to  be  a  sinner ;  he  must  feel 
his  poverty,  and  like  the  man  seen  in 
the  engraving,  must  get  down  on  his 
knees,  in  order  to  enter  into  the  gate 
of  life. 

St.  Paul,  when  a  Pharisee,  had  a 
large  load  of  self- righteousness,  but 
when  he  became  a  Christian  he  dis- 
carded it;  he  desired  to  be  found  in 
Christ,  saying,  "  not  having  mine  own 
righteousness,  which  is  of  the  law,  but 
that  which  is  through  the  faith  of 
Christ,  the  righteousness  which  is  of 
God  by  faith." 

Partly  in  the  background  is  one  who 
has  fallen  from  the  narrow  way.  This 
represents  a  lover  of  money ;  one  who 
has  committed  "guilts,  great  blunder," 
and  who  is  now  a  laughing-stock  for 
devils.  They  that  will  be  rich  fall 
into  temptations  and  a  snare,  which 
drown  men  in  perdition.  0,  that  men 
were  wise !  0,  that  they  would  attend 
to  the  words  of  Christ :  "  Ye  can  not 
serve  God  and  mammon ;  verily  it  is 
easier  for  a  camel  to  go  through  the 
eye  of  a  needle,  than  for  a  rich  man 
to  enter  the  kingdom  of  God." 

The  last  depicted  is  one  who  is  car- 
rying worldly  honor  and  glory;  who 
foolishly  thinks  he  can  love  God  and 
the  world  together.  ISTo  man  can 
serve  two  masters  of  opposite  inter- 
est.    "  How,"  said  Jesus,  "  can  ye  be 


saved  who  seek  honor  one  of  another, 
and  not  the  honor  which  cometh  from 
God  only." 

Perhaps  it  was  on  one  of  those  beau- 
tiful evenings  of  surpassing  loveliness, 
seen  only  in  the  Holy  Land,  that  the 
Blessed  Redeemer  delivered  his  unex- 
ampled lessons  of  benevolence  and 
wisdom  from  the  mount  made  sacred 
by  his  presence.  Then  Jesus  opened 
his  mouth  and  taught  them,  saying, 
"  Enter  ye  in  at  the  strait  gate;  strait 
is  the  gate,  and  narrow  is  the  way  that 
leadeth  unto  life,  and  few  there  be 
that  find  it."  By  which  words  the 
Savior  would  have  us  to  understand 
the  nature  and  requirements  of  Re- 
ligion. Its  nature — that  it  consists  in 
a  change  of  heart.  Its  requirements — 
that  Ave  do  justly,  love  mercy,  and  walk 
humbly  with  the  Lord. 

Hence,  by  the  "  strait  gate"  we  may 
learn  that  compliance  with  the  first 
table  of  the  Law  is  intended,  viz. : 
Thou  shalt  love  the  Lord  thy  God 
with  all  thy  heart,  with  all  thy  soul, 
with  all  thy  mind,  and  with  all  thy 
strength.  By  the  "  narrow  way," 
obedience  to  the  demands  of  the  sec- 
ond table  is  enjoined,  viz. :  Thou  shalt 
love  thy  neighbor  as  thyself;  or,  as 
it  is  expressed  by  the  Savior,  more 
copiously,  "Therefore,  all  things  what- 
soever ye  would  that  men  should  do 
unto  you,  do  ye  even  so  to  them." 
As  no  man  can  love  God,  as  required, 
without  a  change  of  heart,  so  neither 
can  any  one  do  unto  others  as  he  would 
they  should  do  unto  him  unless  he  first 
love  God;  for  "  he  that  loveth  nothifi 
brother  abideth  in  death." 


EELIGIOUS    EMBLEMS, 


29 


JOSHUA, 

Chap,  xxiv : 
verse  15. 


1  KINGS, 

Chap,  xviii: 

verse  21. 


REYELATIONS 

Chap,  iii: 
verse  15. 


JAMES, 

Chap,  iv 

verse  8. 


ilOMAXS, 
Chap,  vii : 
verse  19. 


GENESIS, 

Chap,  xlix: 
verse  4. 


2  PETEE, 

Chap,  ii: 

verses  9,  14. 


PEOYERBS. 

Chap,  iv : 
ver^e  25. 


DOUBLE-MrNDEDNESS. 

Ye  can  not  serve  God  and  mammon.     3Iatt.  vi:  24. 
minded  man  is  unstable  in  all  his  ways.     James  i :  i 


-A  double- 


See  the  professor  laboring,  but  in  vain, 
The  world  and  cross  together  to  sustain; 
The  globe  is  in  his  right  hand  dexterous  found, 
His  left  the  cross  drags  sluggish  on  the  ground; 
In  vain  for  him  appears  the  narrow  way, 
The  world  has  led  him  from  the  path  astray: 
In  vain  for  him  shines  forth  the  heavenly  light. 


The  world  has  risen  and  obscured  his  sight; 
Two  minds  he  has,  both  he  may  call  his  own. 
Sometimes  they  lead  him  up,  and  sometimes  down; 
Like  doubtful  birds,  that  hop  from  spray  to  spray, 
His  will  is  never  at  one  certain  stay: 
Too  late  he  learns,  with  deep  regret  and  pain. 
He  loses  both  who  more  than  one  would  gain. 


Here  is  seen  a  man  staggering  under 
two  heavy  burdens;  a  "globe,  which 
represents  the  world,  and  a  cross,  that 
represents  the  Christian  religion.  His 
knees  totter,  and  tremble  beneath  the 
cumbrous  load.  The  cross  is  the  badge 
of  his  profession,  which  he  holds,  or 
rather  drags  along,  with  his  left  hand ; 
this  shows  that  reh^ion  is  only  a  sec- 
ondary concern  with  him. 


j  In  his  right  hand  he  carries  the 
'  globe.  The  right  hand  being  the 
most  dexterous,  shows  that  the  prac- 
tical part  of  his  life  is  employed^  in 
securing  the  world,  notwithstanding 
his  profession.  He  has  succeeded  so 
well  that  the  globe  has  got  uppermost. 
It  monopolizes  his  attention,  and  con- 
trols his  movements.  It  has  turned 
i  his  feet  from  the  narrow  way ;  it  has 


30 


KELIGIOUS    EMBLEMS, 


hid  from  his  view  the  glorious  light 
of  the  heavenly  city.  In  going  down 
hill,  the  cross  slips  out  of  his  left 
hand;  he  stumbles  over  it,  and  falls; 
the  globe  falls  upon  him,  and  grinds 
him  to  powder. 

This  emblem  needs  but  little  illus- 
tration. It  shows  the  folly  and  end 
of  a  double-minded  man.  The  fabled 
Atlas,  who  carried  the  world  on  his 
shoulders,  attempted  nothing,  accom- 
plished nothing,  compared  with  the 
man  who  labors  to  secure  both  this 
world  and  the  next;  he  has  two  souls, 
or  minds,  which  govern  him  by  turns ; 
but  in  the  end  the  worldly  principle 
prevails.  His  folly  consists  in  trying 
to  do  what  is  in  itself  absolutely  im- 
possible— what  no  man  did  or  ever  can 
do.  God  himself  has  separated  the 
world  from  the  cross;  what  God  hath 
separated,  no  man  mpy  bring  together ; 
the  nature  of  the  GosjdcI  forbids  such 
union.  Its  influences,  doctrines,  pre- 
cepts, objects,  tendencies,  and  final 
issues  are  all  opposed  and  contrary 
to  the  principles,  maxims,  practices, 
and  interests  of  this  world. 

In  the  Gospel,  provision  is  made 
to  renew  the  heart,  and  to  enable  man 
to  set  his  affections  on  things  above, 
not  on  things  on  the  earth.  The  cross 
is  as  much  as  any  man  can  carry,  let 
him  have  as  much  grace  as  he  will. 
If  any  doubt  remains,  Christ,  the  great 
Umpire  of  all  disputed  claims  of  this 
kind,  has  pronounced  the  decision : 
^^ No  man  can  serve  two  masters;''^  "  Ye 
can  not  serve  God  and  mammon'^ 


The  double-minded  man  is  unstable 
in  all  his  ways;  sometimes  he  is  seen 
among  the  disciples  of  Clirist,  then 
again  he  appears  following  the  course 
of  this  world.  He  takes  no  comfort 
in  religion,  and  none  in  the  world. 
Every  thing  connected  with  him  is 
double ;  a  double  curse  rests  upon  him 
wherever  he  goes.  True  Christians 
are  ashamed  of  him;  the  ungodly 
despise  him;  he  is  a  laughing-stock 
for  devils;  his  own  conscience  re- 
proaches him;  his  own  family  up- 
braids him;  and  a  double  punishment 
will  be  the  portion  of  his  cup  forever. 

The  mad  prophet  Balaam  is  a  re- 
markable instance  of  double-minded- 
ness.  In  profession,  he  would  be  a 
prophet  of  Jehovah ;  in  practice,  he 
followed  and  "  loved  the  wages  of 
unrighteousness."  Despised  by  the 
people  of  God,  to  whom  he  was  a 
stumbling-block;  despised  and  re- 
proached by  Balak  for  his  indecision, 
he  died  under  the  weight  of  a  double 
curse,  and  left  his  name  a  proverb  of 
reproach  and  shame. 

Choose  you  this  day  whom  ye  will 
serve.     Joshua,  xxiv :  15. 

How  long  halt  ye  between  two 
opinions?  If  the  Lord  be  God,  fol- 
low him;  but  if  Baal,  then  follow 
him.     1  Kings,  xviii:  21. 

I  know  thy  works,  that  thou  art 
neither  cold  nor  hot;  I  would  thou, 
wert  cold  or  hot.  So,  then,  because 
thou  art  lukewarm,  and  neither  cold 
nor  hot,  I  will  spew  thee  out  of  my 
mouth.     Eev.  Hi:  15,  16. 


E  E  1. 1  G I  O  U  S    EMBLEMS. 


31 


EOMANS, 

Chap,  ii: 
verse  13. 


JAMES, 
Chap,  i: 
verse  22. 


JOHN, 

Chap,  xiii : 

verse  17. 


EZRA, 
Chap,  vi: 
verse  3. 


PEOVEEBS, 
Chap,  x: 
verse  25. 


1  COEINTH'NS, 

Chap,  iii: 
verse  11. 


/^^^m,       EPHESIANS, 


Chap,  ii : 
verse  20. 


JOB, 

Chap,  xxii: 

verses  15,  16. 


THE  HOUSE  FOUNDED  ON  A  ROCK. 

And  the  rain  descended,  and  the  floods  came,  and  heat  upon  that 
house,  and  it  fell  not ;  for  ii  xoas  founded  upon  a  rock.     Matt,  vii:  25. 


HroH  on  a  rock,  the  wise  man  marks  his  plan, 
Its  deep  foundations  closely  ho  would  scan; 
Though  gentle  zephyrs  breathe  through  summer 

skies, 
He  knows  that  storms  wide- wasting  may  arise; 
On  solid  bas3  his  building  rises  fair. 
And  points  its  turrets  througli  the  ambient  air. 
V»'ith  tranquil  jov,  his  eyes  delighted,  greet 
The  beauteous  fibric  furnished  and  complete; 
In  conscious  safety  makas  it  his  abode. 
His  duty  done,  he  leaves  the  rest  with  God. 


But  soon  dark  clouds  o'erspread  the  troubled  sky, 
And  soon  is  heard  the  voice  of  tempest  high; 
Deep  rolls  the  thunder,  rains  in  torrents  pour, 
And  floods  tumultuous  beat  with  deafening  roar. 
Floods,    rain,   nor   thunder,  nor  rude   tempest's 

shock. 
Can  harm  the  house — 'tis  founded  on  a  Rock. 

Not  so  the  simpleton  who  built  on  sand, 
And  wrought  his  labor  with  penurious  hand; 
'Midst  howling  tempests,  and  loud  thunder's  roar, 
His  house — it  vanish'd,  and  was  seen  no  more. 


A  wise  mnn  flp^irins:  to  build  a  I  conntry  is  often  visited  with  violent 
house  for  himself  and  family,  sees  |  grtorms,  that  hurricanes  are  frequent, 
many  very  pleasant  and  romantic  lrH"s;  and  that  the  rivers  frequently  over- 
he  is  tempted  to  choose  a  delightful  |  flow  their  banks,  and  sweep  awaj 
situation,  but  he  remewibers  that  the   bridges,  houses,  cattle,  and  inhabit- 


32 


EELIGIOUS    EMBLEMS, 


ants,  all  together.  This  makes  him 
cautious ;  he  sacrifices  what  is  merely 
ornamental  for  what  is  useful  and  es- 
sential, lie  fixes  upon  a  rock  for  the 
site  of  his  mansion.  He  builds  in 
such  a  manner  that  his  house  looks 
like  a  part  of  the  rock  itself,  it  is  so 
imbedded  within  its  shelvings.  When 
all  is  snug  and  complete,  he  enters 
his  new  dwelling,  thankful  that  he 
has  been  enabled  to  finish  it.  In  a 
little  while,  one  of  those  storms  come 
on  so  common  to  the  country;  the 
rains  descend,  the  winds  blow,  the 
floods  beat  against  the  house,  but  it 
stands  unmoved.  All  night  the  tem- 
pest lasts;  at  length  morning  comes; 
the  son  of  wisdom  opens  the  door  and 
goes  forth,  like  Noah  when  he  left  the 
ark  after  the  waters  of  the  deluge  had 
abated.  He  looks  around;  all  is  de- 
solation except  his  own  house.  At 
a  little  distance  from  him  he  discovers 
some  of  the  fragments  of  his  neigh- 
bor's house.  The  foolish  man  had 
studied  only  ease  and  present  con- 
venience; he  chose  a  showy  place,  but 
the  foundation  was  sandy.  The  hur- 
ricane swept  them  all  away  together. 

>The  house  on  the  rock  and  its  build- 
er, is  an  emblem  6f  the  man  who  hears 
the  Word  of  God  and  keeps  it.  He 
makes  the  Word  of  God  a  ladder  by 
which  he  climbs  to  heaven.  Begin- 
ning at  repentance,  he  goes  on  to 
feiitli  in  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  then 
to  holiness ;  thus  he  mounts  from  faith 
to  faith,  till  finally  he  reaches  glory. 

Observe,  it  is  not  the  person  who 


hears,  or  understands,  or  remembers, 
or  believes,  merely,  the  Word  of  God ; 
but  the  Doer;  that  is,  the  prudent  or 
wise  man.  He  fastens  on  the  Eock 
of  Ages;  Christ  is  his  foundation, 
where,  in  obedience  to  the  word,  he 
has  fled  for  refuge ;  hence,  he  is  pro- 
tected against  all  the  storms  of  earth 
and  hell. 

"To  obey  is  better  than  sacrifice,  to 
hearken  than  the  fat  of  rams."  The 
Word  of  God  is  compared  to  seed, 
which,  if  received  in  good  ground, 
beareth  much  fruit.  As  the  seed  re- 
quires that  the  ground  should  be  pre- 
pared, watered,  weeded,  etc.,  so  the 
Word  requires  that  it  should  be  re- 
ceived with  attention  and  nourished 
by  meditation,  much  prayer,  and  faith. 
No  one  can  enter  the  kingdom  of 
heaven  unless  he  is  a  disciple  of  Christ ; 
but  he  is  not  a  disciple  unless  he 
bringeth  much  fruit.  He,  and  he 
alone,  that  doeth  the  will  of  God  shall 
abide  forever. 

A  person  having  just  returned  from 
church,  was  met  Avith  the  following 
exclamation :  "  What,  is  it  all  done ! " 
"No,  by  no  means."  was  the  prompt 
reply ;  "  it  is  all  said,  but  not  all  done" 

For  not  the  hearers  of  the  law  are 
just  before  God,  but  the  doers  of  the 
law  shall  be  justified.     Rom.  ii:  13. 

But  be  ye  doers  of  the  word,  and 
not  hearers  only  ....  a  doer  of  the 
work,  this  man  shall  be  blessed  in  his 
deed.     James,  i:  22,  25. 

If  ye  know  these  tilings,  happy  are 
ye;  ye  do  them.     John,  xiii:  17. 


11 E  L  I  G  I  O  U  S    EMBLEMS, 


33 


PEOVERBS, 

Chap,  iii; 
verse  5, 


PROVERBS, 

Chap,  xxviii: 
verse  26. 


1  THESSAL'NS, 
Chap,  v: 
verse  3. 


P'ROVERBS, 

Chap  xxix : 

vers6  1. 


PROVERBS, 
Cliap.  vi: 
verso  15. 


PROVERBS, 
Chap,  xxviii: 
verses  14,  18. 


REVELATION'S 

Chap,  iii: 
verse  IT. 


1  CORINTHXS, 
Chap,  x: 
verse  12 


SELF-COTTFIDENCE. 

Seesi  thou  a  man  loise  in  Jus  oiim  conceit?     There  is  more  hope  of 
a  fool  than  of  him.     Prov.  xxvi:  12. 


See  how  Self-confidence  his  friend  doth  treat, 
Nor  heeds  the  danger  from  beneath  his  feet; 
With  head  erect,  he  proudly  stalks  along, 
The  warning  voice  is  but  an  idle  song; 
As  to  the  precipice  he  draws  more  nigh, 
His  friend  yet  louder  lifts  his  voice  on  high. 
But  deaf  and  blind,  he  neither  sees  nor  hears. 


From    friends    or    foes    lie    nothing    wants    or 

fears; 
He  "knows,  and  that's  enough — all  riglit,"  wlier.. 

lol 
At  once  he  falls  into  the  gulf  below: 
Adown  the  rocks  ho  tumbles  o'er  and  o'er, 
And  sinks  in  darkness,  to  arise  no  more. 


The  engraving  shows  a  traveler  in 
the  greatest  peril.  lie  is  on  the  brink 
of  an  awful  precipice:  he  knows  it 
not.  Bat  this  is  not  the  worst  of  his 
case:  he  is  confident  in  his  knowl- 
edge, and  that  he  is  fnll.y  prepared  for 
every  emergency,  although  he  has  not 
examined  any  book  of  roads,  or  any 
charts  or  maps;  nor  has  he  made  in- 
quiries of  others  who  have  traveled 
3 


these  parts  before  him.  A  friend  is 
seen,  who  endeavors  to  apprise  him 
of  his  danger;  he  calls  to  him,  but  lie 
turns  a  deaf  ear  to  his  remonstrances, 
and  still  proceeds.  As  he  draws  near 
the  fatal  brink,  his  friend,  knowing 
his  danger,  exerts  himself  to  the  ut- 
most to  have  him  stop,  to  listen,  but 
for  one  moment;  but  no,  he  has  no 
need    of    advice;    on    he   goes.     The 


RELIGIOUS    EMBLEMS. 


ground,  wliich  is  hollow,  gives  way 
beneath  his  feet;  he  falls,  and  is  in- 
stantly dashed  to  pieces.  The  name 
of  the  man  is  "  Self-confidence." 

The  moral  of  this  is,  that  dangers 
stand  thick  all  through  the  path  of 
human  life — dangers  such  as  the  lust 
of  the  flesh,  the  hist  of  the  eye,  and 
the  pride  of  life,  with  their  numerous 
attendants.  False  doctrines  also,  the 
tendency  of  which  is  to  destroy  the 
liappiness  of  mankind,  prevail.  They 
are  covered  with  a  flimsy  garb,  which 
deceives  superficial  observers. 

Moreover,  youth  is  presumptuous, 
self-willed,  and  self-confident.  They 
are  too  much  inclined  to  follow  the 
light  which  their  own  vanity  has 
kindled.  But  their  self-confidence 
does  not  remove  the  dangers  from  their 
path,  nor  render  them  invulnerable. 
But  man  is  ignorant,  how  shall  he 
know?  helpless,  what  shall  he  do? 
If  any  man  lack  wisdom,  let  him  ask 
of  God.  "  Do  "  ponder  well  the  paths 
of  thy  feet.  Lean  not  to  thine  own 
understanding.  He  that  trusts  to  his 
own  heart  is  a  fool.  In  all  thy  ways 
acknowledge  God;  he  will  direct  thy 
paths.  Here,  then,  is  the  conclusion 
of  the  whole  matter;  imminent  perils 
surround  the  3'outh,  but  the  greatest 
of  all  perils  is  the  danger  of  trusting 
to  his  own  heart.  Lean  upon  God, 
and  all  will  be  well.     Though  weak 


and  ignorant,  yet  God  is  wise  and 
strong,  able  to  guide  and  preserve  all 
those  who  trust  in  him. 

The  mariner  who  should  put  to  sea 
without  chart  or  compass,  trusting  to 
his  own  knowledge,  would,  without 
doubt,  on  the  first  stormy  night,  re- 
pent heartily  of  his  folly.  O,  how 
much  greater  is  the  folly  of  those  who, 
trusting  to  self,  neglect  to  use  the 
lamp  of  God's  truth,  or  to  seek  the 
enlightening  influences  of  his  Holy 
Spirit,  or  to  follow  the  advice  of  the 
wise  and  good. 

The  case  of  Pharaoh,  the  Egyptian 
monarch,  affords  a  striking  example 
of  self-confidence.  When  the  children 
of  Israel  had  left  the  house  of  bond- 
age and  were  well  on  their  journey 
toward  the  land  of  promise,  the  king, 
confiding  in  his  strength,  exclaimed, 
"  I  will  pursue,  I  will  overtake,"  and 
presumptuously  set  forth  for  that  pur- 
pose. Each  recently-received  plague 
remonstrated,  and  forbade  the  rash- 
ness of  the  monarch,  but  all  in  vain. 
On  he  rushed,  even  to  the  division  ol 
waters.  In  his  self-confidence,  he  en- 
gaged in  battle  with  Jehovah,  God 
of  Armies.  The  conflict  was  of  short 
duration;  the  arm  of  the  Lord  pre- 
vailed; Pharaoh  and  his  men  of  war 
were  swept  aw^ay  with  the  waters  of 
destruction. 


RELIGIOUS    EMBLEMS, 


35 


KCCLESIAST'S, 

Chap,  xii : 

verse  7. 


MALACHI, 

Chap,  iv: 
verse  4. 


JEREMIAH, 

Chap,  xxxi : 
verse  35. 


PSALM 

xxvii : 
verse  1. 


ISAIAH, 

Chap,  ix: 
verse  2. 


JOHN, 

Chap,  viii : 

verse  12. 


EPHESIANS, 
Chap,  v: 
verse  8. 


JOHN, 

Chap,  iii : 

verses  19,  20 


THE    SUN   OF    TRUTH. 

Thy  irord  is  a  lamp  unto  my  feet,  and  a  light  unto  my  path.     Ps. 
cxix:  105. The  Lord  God  is  a  sun  and  shield.     Fs.  Ixxxiv:  11. 


Lo!  onn,  p.atli  that  throiisrh  the  mountains  pwcep;?,  )  Till  equatorial  o'er  his  head  it  burns, 


And   climbs  their   summits,    and   descends  their 

deeps, 
The  Sun  pours  wide  his  bright  diffusive  rays. 
And  shows  two  travelers  on  tlieir  different  ways; 
ni.s  shade  behind,  his   pathway  always  bi-ight, 
One  travels  forward  with  increasing  light, 


And  all  of  shadow  into  day  it  turns; 

The  other  turns  upon  the  sun  his  back. 

His  lengthening  shadow  darkens  all  his  tractt; 

Which    now    not    seen,    he   turns  him   fi-om    the 

right, 
And  ends  his  journey  in  the  realms  of  night. 


See  where,  amoiis^  the  mountain 
heights,  a  lon_2;strai«-ht  path  stretches 
itself  till  it  is  lost  in  the  distance  he- 
yond.  The  sun  ponrs  wide  his  rays 
of  livino:  light,  illnminating  the  path, 
and  shedd'ng  luster  all  arotmd.  Two 
travelers  are  pursuing  their  different 
routes.  One  advances  toward  the  sun  ; 
his  shadow  is  behind, his  path  is  bright 
before  him.     As  lie  proceeds  his  shad- 


ow diminishes,  while  liis  path  grows 
brighter  and  brighter,  until,  directly 
overhead,  the  sun  ])ours  the  full  tide 
of  its  glory  upon  him,  and  the  whole 
of  the  shadow  disappears. 

The  other  has  turned  his  back  upon 
the  orb  of  day.  See,  he  follows  his 
own  shadow.  '  It  darkens  his  pathway 
before  him.  Ntnv  he  leaves  the  track  ; 
his  shadow  lengthens  more  and  more; 


36 


RELIGIOUS    EMBLEMS, 


he  wanders  into  sunken  labyrinths, 
and  finally  loses  himself  amid  the 
darkness  of  night. 

This  emblem  represents  the  moral 
world.  The  sun  designates  the  Sun 
of  Truth.  The  travelers  denote,  first, 
those  who  follow  the  light;  their  path 
shines  brighter  and  brighter  unto  the 
perfect  day;  their  souls  become  en- 
lightened, vivified,  and  purified," dark- 
ness disappears,  and  heavenly  light 
shines  on  their  souls  forever.  Sec- 
ondly, it  signifies  those  who  turn  their 
backs  on  the  light,  and  who,  as  they 
journey,  wander  further,  and  further 
from  his  bright  beams ;  their  path  be- 
comes darker  and  darker;  their  shad- 
ow lengthens  as  they  proceed,  until, 
having  forsaken  altogether  the  way 
of  truth,  they  lose  themselves  among 
the  wilds  of  error,  and  perish  in  the 
darkness  of  everlasting  night.    • 

Where  shines  the  Sun  of  Truth? 
In  the  Holy  Bible.  The  Scriptures 
are  a  "light"  to  the  weary  traveler, 
illuminating  all  his  goings,  pointing 
out  his  proper  path,  and  showing 
where  the  mountains  of  error  lift  up 
their  desolating  heads.  This  Sun  of 
Truth  shines  on  the  traveler  himself. 
It  discovers  his  ignorance,  guilt,  dan- 
ger, helplessness,  and,  at  the  same 
time,  his  immortality.  Again  it  shines, 
and  he  beholds  Calvary,  with  all  its 
weeping  tragedies.  It  reveals  to  him 
now  his  "wisdom,  justification,  sanc- 


tification,  and  redemption."  AVhere 
shines  the  Sun  of  Truth?  In  the  per- 
son of  Jesus  Christ.  He  who  wisely 
uses  the  light  of  the  Scriptures,  will 
be  led  to  contemplate  Him  who  is  the 
"  Light  of  the  world,"  "  the  Sun  of 
Righteousness,"  "  the  Splendid  Glory 
of  Jehovah,"  "  the  Way,  the  Life,  and 
the  Truth." 

The  Christian,  following  the  light 
of  the  glorious  Sun  of  Truth,  discovers 
ever-opening  mines  of  richest  knowl- 
edge. Fountains  of  living  waters  roll 
their  treasures  at  his  feet.  Trees  of 
Life  overhang  his  pathway,  and  drop 
into  his  lap  their  golden  stores,  till  at 
length  he  beholds  the  opening  gates 
of  the  Xew  Jerusalem, 


Where  Light  and  Truth,  their  mystic  powers 

combine, 
And  o'er  the  realms  of  Love  forever  shine. 


The  infidel,  turning  his  back  upon 
the  light,  walks  in  the  vain  shadow 
of  his  own  opinions.  Darker,  and  yet 
more  dark,  the  shadow  grows;  he 
waxes  worse  and  worse;  one  truth 
after-another  is  given  up,  one  lie  after 
another  is  embraced ;  further  and 
further  he  wanders  from  God  and 
bliss,  and  finally  he  takes  his  fearful 
"leap  in  the  dark,"  and  finds  himself, 
contrary  to  his  expectations,  in  outer 
darkness,  where  there  is  weeping,  and 
wailing,  and  woe. 


KELIGIOUS    EMBLEMS 


37 


joh:n-, 

Chap,  i: 
verses  4,  5,  9. 


PSALM        'm 


xxvii : 
verse  1. 


PSALM 

xviii: 
verse  28. 


JOB, 

Chap,  xxix: 

verse  3. 


ISAIAH, 

Chap,  xlii: 
verse  16. 


2  SAMUEL, 

Chap,  xxii: 
verse  29. 


ISAIAH, 

Chap.  Iviii: 
verse  8. 


2  COPtlNTH'NS, 
Chap  iv : 
verse  6. 


LIGHT    m   DArvK:N'ESS. 

U?ito  the  xpHf/ht  there  aiiscth  Jif/hf  in  the  darhiess.    Ps.  cxii:  4. 

Yea,  though  I  walkthroiv/h  the  ralleij  of  the  shadow  of  death,  I  will 
fear  no  evil,  for  thou  art  with  me.     Ps.  xxiii:  4. 


The  faithful  Christian  walks  in  darkest  gloom, 
As  though  inclosed  in  some  monastic  fonib; 
And  clouds  of  darkest  night  surround  liis  head; 
A  pall,  like  that  wliich  canopies  the  dead; 
His  path  lies  throup;h  the  palpable  obscure, 
Nor  can  he  yet  discern  an  open  door; 


Yet  he's  i-esolved  to  penetrate  his  way, 
Nor  doubts  but  ihirkness  will  be  turned  to  day: 
To  Christ  he  prays,  the  light  of  mortals  here; 
And  Christ,  the  light  of  mortals,  shines  out  clear, 
Full  on  his  path,  pours  down  tlie  lieavenly  light. 
And  on  he  goes  with  vigor  and  deliglit 


The  cnsfravino:  represents  a  Chris- 
tian walkini^  throuofh  a  dark  and 
ohadowy  vale,  wherein  is  no  li^ht; 
the  mantel  of  darkness  encircles  him, 
the  pall  of  the  grave  has  enfolded  it- 
self around  him.  Nevertheless,  his 
ytath  runs  directly  through  it;  lie 
knowi^  not  what  dangers  may  lie  in 
the    midst;    he   knows  not   when  or 


where  the  end  may  be.  No  chink, 
outlet,  or  open  door  presents  itself  to 
him,  yet  he  is  determined  to  perse- 
vere ;  it  is  the  path  of  duty. 

Addressitig  himself  to  his  work,  lie 
addresses  himself  also  to  his  Master; 
he  calls  on  Christ,  whose  he  is,  and 
whom  he  serves;  the  Savior  shows 
his  bright  and  glorious  countenance; 


38 


RELIGIOUS    EMBLEMS, 


the  light  of  his  glory  falls  full  upon 
the  traveler;  tlie  reflection  irradiates 
his  pathway,  all  is  light.  He  goes  on 
his  way  rejoicing  in  the  Lord. 

Every  Christian  must  at  times  pass 
through  the  valley  of  tribulation.  Men- 
tal anxiety,  sickness,  loss  of  friends, 
poverty,  persecution  and  death,  with 
many  other  things,  make  the  materi- 
als of  the  valle}'  of  tribulation.  The 
blessed  Savior  has  said  that  all  who 
live  godly  must  pass  through  this  val- 
ley. And  again,  through  much  trib- 
ulation ye  must  enter  into  the  king- 
dom of  Grod.  And  John  the  beloved, 
looking  with  wonder  at  the  glory  of 
some  who  were  seen  before  the  throne 
of  God,  was  informed  by  the  angel 
that  they  were  those  who  had  come 
out  of  great  tribulation. 

But  Christ  is  the  light  of  the  world, 
the  Sun  of  Righteousness,  the  source 
from  which  all  intellectual  and  spir- 
itual light  is  derived.  Wherefore  God 
our  heavenly  Father  says  to  us.  Awake 
thou  that  sleepest,  arouse  from  the 
dead  thou  that  dwellest  among  the 
tombs,  and  Christ  shall  give  thee  light. 
But  to  the  Christian  passing  through 
the  dark  valley  of  trouble,  he  says: 
Arise,  shine,  thy  light  is  come,  and  the 
glory  of  the  Lord  is  risen  on  thee.  To 
the  disciple  of  Jesus  this  light  indeed 
belongs,  and  much  he  needs  it  in  iiis 
pilgrimage.  To  him  it  is  given  by 
promise.  To  the  upright  there  aris- 
eth  light  in  darkness ;  light  is  sown 
for  the  righteous,  and  gladness  for  the 


upright  in  heart.  The  light  of  knowl- 
edge, the  light  of  consolation,  the  light 
of  holiness,  and  the  light  of  eternal 
glory  are  the  Christian's  inheritance, 
in  and  through  Christ  Jesus.  With- 
out Christ  all  is  darkness,  wretched- 
ness, and  death.  With  Him  all  is 
Light,  Life,  Love,  and  Peace. 

Stephen  was  a  good  man,  yet  he 
had  to  pass  through  the  valley  of  trib- 
ulation. Perhaps  he  was  more  highly 
favored  than  any  other  man  in  similar 
circumstances;  probably  this  was  on 
account  of  his  being  the  first  Chris- 
tian martyr — the  model  for  all  suc- 
ceeding martyrs.  He  looked  up 
through  the  clouds  of  persecution  that 
surrounded  him,  and  saw  "  the  glory 
of  God  and  Jesus;"  he  could  not  keep 
silent;  "Behold,"  he  cried,  "I  see  the 
heavens  opened,  and  the  Son  of  man 
standing  at  the  right  hand  of  God." 
The  glorious  light  shone  in  him,  and 
through  him,  and  around  him;  he 
looked  as  au  angel  of  the  Lord. 

In  darkest  shades,  if  he  appear, 

My  dawning  is  begun  ! 
He  is  my  soul's  sweet  morning  star, 

And  he  my  rising  sun. 

The  opening  heavens  around  me  shine 
With  beams  of  sacred  bliss, 

While  Jesus  shows  his  heart  is  mine, 
And  whispers,  /  am  his  ! 

My  soul  would  leave  this  heavy  clay. 

At  that  transporting  word, 
Run  up  with  joy  the  shining  way. 

To  embrace  my  dearest  Lord. —  WaiU. 


li  E  L  I  G I  O  U  S    EMBLEMS. 


:)0 


1  JOHN, 

Chap  ii: 
verses  15,  16. 


MATTHEW, 

Chap,  xvi: 

verse  20. 


MATTHEW, 

Chap,  xiii: 
verse  22. 


PSALM 
xxxix: 
verse  6. 


ECCLESIASTS, 

Chap,  iv: 

verse  8. 


JEREML\H, 
Chap,  ix: 
verse  23. 


1  TIMOTHY, 

Cliap.  vi: 

verse  9. 


ECCLESIASTS, 

Chap,  ii: 
verses  10,  11. 


THE  worldli]:tg. 

He  heapeth  up  riches,  and  knoiodh  not  ivho  shall  gather  them.     Ps. 

xxxix:  6, A  rich  man  shall  hardly  enter  into  the  kingdom  of 

heaven.     Matt,  xix:  23. 


AvD  now,  the  worUlliiijj,  with  his  gathering  rake, 
Performs  his  task,  the  glittering  dust  to  take; 
Devoted  man!    with  many  cares  oppressed, 
Gold  he  coUecis,  to  ease  his  aching  breast. 
Tlie  fool's  insignia  he  most  truly  bears, 
He  but  increases  what  he  mostly  fears: 
As  dropsied  patients,  who  with  thirst  are  faint, 
Drink  and  are  dry,  and  strengthen  their  complaint. 
While  in  this  groveling,  melancholy  plight. 
Religion  comes,  a  messenger  of  light; 


Mercy's  blest  Angel  has  fromlieaven  comedown, 
She  meets  the  worldling  and  presents  her  crown; 
"  Behold,"  she  cries,  "  the  diadem  I  bear, 
Enriched  with  gems  such  as  liiight  Angels  wenr; 
Yield  then  to  me,  first  lay  thy  muck-rake  down. 
Bear  thy  brow  upward,  and  receive  ni}-  crown." 
The  worldling,  stupid,  toils  and  rckes  away; 
Still  looking  down,  he  rakts  from  d«y  to  day; 
Himself  his  foe  lie  lives,  and  greatly  poor; 
And  dies  remembered  as  a  fool — no  more. 


Tlie  ejisrraving  renresents  a  man 
hard  at  work;  he  holds  a  rake  in  his 
hand,  with  which  he  o-athers  dust  and 
rubbish  tosrether,  Tlie  vellow  shin- 
inof   dust   is  called  erold :   he  is  alto 


his  emi»loymont.  TTe  kneels  down  to 
his  work;  this  shows  his  devotion  to 
the  ohiect  of  his  affections.  For  this 
oTOvclincr  work  he  lias  forsaken  all 
intellectual    and    reliirious    pleasures, 


gether   absorbed,  lost,  as  it  were,  in  I  all  social  and  domestic  hapi)incss.    He 


40 


EELIGIOUS    EMBLBJilB. 


is  a  poor  man ;  although  he  has  agreat 
deal  of  that  hard  shining  dust  you  see 
lying  there,  he  is  craving  after  more; 
he  is  in  want,  therefore  he  is  poor; 
he  is  a  miser,  therefore  he  is  miserable. 
The  poor  man  is  altogether  beside  him- 
self. 

The  bright  lovely  one  bearing  a 
starry  crown  is  Religion,  daughter  of 
the  skies;  she  has  many  attendants, 
who  are  concealed  at  present ;  she  has 
come  a  long  way  to  meet  the  poor 
man;  she  looks  upon  him  with  com- 
passion; she  sees  his  miserable  condi- 
tion, she  knows  his  great  folly.  Ad- 
dressing him,  she  says:  "Poor  soul, 
why  labor  you  for  the  dust  which 
perisheth?  Why  do  you  spend  your 
strength  for  naught?  Hearken  unto 
m.e  and  I  will  give  you  riches,  more 
abundantly  than 'earth  can  give,  and 
lasting  as  eternity.  Look  up,  poor 
man ;  behold  tliis  crown,  beautiful  and 
glorious;  it  contains  the  riches  of  a 
million  of  such  worlds  as  this,  and 
the  happiness  of  ages  upon  ages ; 
throw  by  your  rake  and  be  happy." 
AYorldling,  for  that  is  the  name  of  the 
infatuated  mortal,  takes  no  notice 
whatever.  He  still  continues  at  his 
task;  there  is  no  voice  nor  any  that 
regard.  And  Religion,  after  waiting 
a.  long  time,  departs  and  leaves  him 
to  his  folly. 

They  that  vnll  be  rich — though  by 
means  ever  so  fair — fall  into  tempta- 
tation  and  a  snare,  which  drown  men 
in  perdition.  Youth,  beware !  when 
men  neglect  to  employ  the  talent  of 


wealth  according  to  the  will  of  God, 
he  gives  them  up  to  tlie  love  of  it,  and 
they  become  fools,  intoxicated  with 
the  alcohol  of  mammon.  The  world- 
ling lives  in  the  world"  as  though  he 
was  never  to  quit  it.  Bound  for  eter- 
nity, he  makes  no  preparation  for  the 
voyage — going  to  the  judgment,  and 
before  a  holy  God — and  continues  un- 
repentant and  polluted.  He  is  treas- 
uring up  what?  Gold.  What  else? 
Wrath  against  the  day  of  wrath.  The 
love  of  money,  an  evil  disease,  has 
taken  hold  upon  him;  the  more  he 
adds,  the  more  he  feeds  the  disease; 
like  persons  with  the  dropsy,  who 
drink  and  are  still  dry.  When  Gar- 
rick,  the  actor,  showed  Dr.  Johnson 
an  estate  he  had  lately  purchased, 
Johnson  remarked :  "  Ah  !  it  is  these 
things  that  make  death  dreadful." 
But  the  love  of  money  makes  life 
mi8era])le.  The  Roman  citizen,  Api- 
cius,  after  spending  some  800,000 
pounds,  and  finding  he  was  worth 
only  83,000  pomids,  fearing  Avant, 
ended  his  life  by  poison. 
_But  the  worldling heapeth  up  riches, 
and  knows  not  loho  will  gather  them. 
Cupidus,  with  great  labor,  accumu- 
lated a  great  estate,  and  dying,  left 
his  wealth  to  his  two  sons,  Stultus 
and  Effusio.  Stultus  had  in  a  little 
time  to  be  placed  under  guardians, 
who  spent  his  money  for  their  own 
})leasures.  Effusio  squandered  his 
patrimony  in  riotous  living,  and  died 
a  most  miserable  death  in  a  lunatic 
asylum. 


EELIGIOUS    EMBLEMS, 


41 


MATTHEW, 
Chap.  X : 
verse  38. 


1  CORINTH'NS 

Chap,  i: 
verse  18. 


GALATIANS, 

Chap,  vi: 
verse  14. 


PHILLIPP'NS, 

Chap,  ii : 
verse  8. 


HEBREWS, 

Chap,  xii : 
verse  2. 


2  TIMOTHY, 
Chap,  iii: 
verse  12. 


2  COEINTH'NS, 

Chap,  iv: 

verse  9. 


i»n»im.\;^>MnM«W*' 


EOMANS, 

Chap,  viii: 
verse  17. 


THE    CROSS-BEARER. 

If  any  m.an  vnll  come  after  me,  let  him  deny  himself,  and  take  up 
his  cross  and  folio  id  me.     Matt,  xvi:  24. 


Dear  reader,  o'er  this  sncrcd  emblem  pause, 
And  view  the  Christian  bearing  up  Iii?  cio.ss; 
Nor  steep  , scent,  nor  roughness  of  the  way. 
E'er  makes  him  halt,  or  turns  his  feet  astray: 
Should  he  in  weakness  think  to  lay  it  down. 
Mis  sti-ength  increases  when  he  sees  the  crown; 
His  soul  enkindles  at  the  glorious  sight, 


ITis  yoke's  more  easy,  and  his  cross  more  light. 
The  Cross  all  hallowed,  is  the  Christian's  boast— 
His  WATCHWORD,  fighting  at  his  arduous  post — 
His  true  innignia  as  he  glides  along. 
(Conspicuous,  through  the  pleasure-loving  throng; 
His  roi/nl  passport,  sanctioned  by  the  skies, 
By  which  he  triumphs,  and  secures  the  prize. 


Behold  here  the  Christian  bearinc^ 
lip  maiifnllv  under  liis  cross.  It  is  a 
glorious  siii-ht.  You  see  him  going 
with  his  cross  up  the  dilHcnlt  moun- 
tain passes,  as  well  as  aloug  the 
emooth  and  flowery  plain.  View  the 
crown!  It  is  seen  in  the  distance. 
Sometimes  the  clouds  gather  around 
it;  in  general,  however,  to  the  cross- 


bearer  the  sky  is  clear;  he  can  di?*- 
C(n'er  the  crown  glittering  in  it.s 
beauty. 

The  young  Christian  will  know 
what  this  means  spiritually.  It  is  not 
of  the  Savior's  cross,  but  of  tlie  Chris- 
tian's own  proper  cross  that  we  now 
speak.  What  is  it  to  bear  the  cross? 
To  bear  tlie  cross  always,  is  to  do  right 


42 


RELIGIOUS    EMBLEMS. 


always.  It  is  no  less  than  to  fullill 
the  high  conimaiids  of  the  Savior, 
uuder  all  circumstances.  It  is  to  de- 
ny, control,  and  conquer  self.  It  is 
to  watch,  pray,  and  by  divine  medi- 
tation have  constant  hold  upon  Christ. 
It  is  to  glorify  God  before  men  by  a 
lioly  walk  and  conversation;  forgiv- 
ing enemies,  loving  all  men,  aiming 
to  do  them  good  bodily  and  spiritu- 
ally— in  a  word,  it  is  to  follow  Christ 
as  far  as  the  disciple  can  follow  his 
Lord,  in  piety  toward  God,  in  benev^- 
olence  toward  man.  When  Peter  ex- 
claimed, "  I  know  not  the  man,"  he 
laid  down  his  cross.  When  Paul  de- 
clared, '•  I  am  ready,  not  to  be  bound 
only,  but  also  to  die  at  Jerusalem  for 
the  name  of  the  Lord  Jesus,"  he  ex- 
pressed his  willingness  to  take  up  his 
cross,  and  his  delight  therein. 

The  Christuin's  proper  work  is  to 
bear  the  cross.  This  is  his  calling, 
his  trade,  or  profession.  It  is  the 
business  of  a  watchmaker  to  make 
watches;  it  is  the  business  of  tlie 
■Christian  to  bear  the  cross  as  above, 
at  home,  abroad,  in  the  shop,  in  the 
store,  in  the  market-place,  or  in  the 
field.  By  reason  of  corruption  within, 
of  opposition  without,  of  the  malice 
of  the  wicked  one,  the  burden  is  some- 
times a  heavy  one,  but  strength  will 
increase  by  practice.  lie  has  man^^ 
discouragements,  many  solicitations 
to  lay  it  aside.  It  sometimes  presses 
heavily   upon  him,  bat  the  sight  of 


the  crown  inspires  him  with  fresh 
vigor,  he  glows,  and  bounds  along 
the  heavenly  road.  By  the  cross, 
I.  e.,  by  his  conduct,  the  Christian  is 
distinguished  i'rom  the  lover  of  the 
world.  While  he  bears  the  cross,  the 
cross  will  bear  him.  It  will  guide 
him  through  labyrinths  of  darkness. 
As  a  sb.ield,  it  will  protect  him  in 
dangerous  conflicts. 

Among  the  Pomans,  criminals  about 
to  be  crucified,  were  compelled  to  bear 
their  own  cross  to  the  place  of  exe- 
cution ;  but  the  Christian  bears  his  to 
the  place  of  triumph.  If  it  should 
prove  at  any  time  so  heavy  as  to  crush 
him  down  to  death,  as  did  Stephen's, 
like  him  he  beholds  the  heavens 
opened,  (lie  King  in  his  beauty,  and 
the  crown  of  celestial  glory.  He 
comes  off  more  than  a  conqueror. 

"  O,  may  I  triumph  so,  when  all  my  conilict's 
past, 
And  dying,  find  my  latest  foe  under  my  feet 
at  last." 


Who  suffer  with  our  Master  here, 
We  sliall  before  his  face  appear, 

And  by  his  side  sit  down  ; 
To  patient  faith  the  prize  is  sure; 
And  all  that  to  the  end  endure 

The  cross  shall  wear  the  crown 

In  hope  of  that  ecstatic  pause, 
Jesus,  we  now  sustain  the  cross, 

And  at  thy  footstool  fall; 
Till  thou  our  liidden  life  reveal. 
Till  thou  our  ravisli'd  spirits  fill^ 

And  God  is  All  in  AIL 


KELIGIOUS    EMBLEMS. 


43 


ACTS, 

Chap,  xii: 

verses  21,  22,  23. 


DANIEL, 

Chap,  iv: 
verses  30-37. 


HOSEA, 

Chap,  iv: 
verse  7. 


PSALM 

xlix: 
verse  12. 


JOHN, 

Chap  V : 
verse  44. 


1  PETEE, 
Chap,  i: 
verse  24. 


EABAKKUK. 

Chap,  ii: 
verse  16. 


JOHN, 
Chap,  ii: 
verse  16. 


WORLDLY    HONOR. 

.  .  .  the  pride  of  life  is  not  of  the  Father,  hat  is  of  the  world.      The 

world  passeth  away,  and  the  last  thereof.     1  John,  ii:  16,  17. 

Man  being  in  honor  abideth  not;  he  is  like  the  beasts  that  perish. 
Ps.  xlix:  12. 


Ijo!  here  are  honors,  floating  in  the  breeze, 
That  wafts  them  chungeful  o'er  the  land  and  seas: 
The  air- inflated  bubble.s  pass  along, 
Attract  the  gaze,  and  fascinate  the  throng; 
Away  they  go,  pursuing  and  pursued, 
O'erleap  all  bounds,  the  legal  and  the  good; 
Through  fields  of  fire,  and  seas  of  blood  and  woe, 
Through  broken   hearts,   and  blasted  hopes   they 

Oa  Aihers'  «arcass,  see!  they  strive  to  rise, 


And  grasp  the  phantom  tlint  before  them  flies; 
In  blood-red  garb,  thebutchering-knife  one  bear^ 
Nor  friend,  nor  foe,  if  in  his  way,  he  spares. 
All  this  for  what?     For  what  this  vast  outlay? 
This  sum  infinite,  squandered  every  day? 
Of  those  thus  fool'd,  some  answer  in  de.^pnir, 
"  We    clasp  d    the    jthantoms,    and    wc  found    them 

air." 
Not  so  the  honors  that  from  God  descend. 
Substantial    pure,  and  lasting  without  end. 


Tills  emblem  is  a  representation  of  Numbers  are  seen  pressing  after  them 
the  vain  pursuits  of  mankind.  Hon-  j  with  all  their  mind  and  strength,  and 
ors,  titles,  and  fame  are  borne  upon  \  in  their  haste  to  possess  them,  they 
the  wings  of  the  wind,  which  is  ever  sacrifice  all  that  is  good  and  holy, 
changing,  as  arc  the  sources  from  all  that  is  benevolent  and  divine, 
whence  worldly  honors   are  derived.  '      One,  with   his  tongue,   assails  the 


44 


RELIGIOUS    EMBLEMS, 


character  of  the  pious  and  the  wise; 
another,  with  his  pen  dipped  in  gall, 
attacks  the  reputation  of  a  suspected 
rival;  others,  as  seen  in  the  emhlem, 
hew  down  Avith  the  sword  those  who 
stand  in  their  path,  and,  trampling 
on  the  bleeding  body  of  the  victim, 
strive  to  obtain  the  object  of  their  de- 
sh'es;  while  the  shrieks  of  the  wound- 
ed, the  groans  of  the  dying,  the  tears 
of  the  widow,  and  the  sobs  of  orphans 
seem  only  to  add  wings  to  the  speed 
of  ambition. 

It  often  costs  them  much  to  enable 
them  to  accomplish  their  ends.  They 
expend  peace  of  conscience,  ease,  and 
often  life  itself,  ^ay,  the  soul's  sal- 
vation— the  favor  of  God,  eternal  life, 
immortality  in  heaven,  are  exchanged 
for  this  empty  nothing.  The  peace 
and  happiness  of  others,  of  millions, 
with  their  lives,  fortunes,  and  des- 
tinies, are  thi-own  away  for  the  same 
worthless  object. 

Perhaps  the  reader  will  say,  "Sure- 
ly, a  thing  that  costs  so  much  must 
be  valuable?"  True  wisdom  con- 
demns such  things  as  valueless,  and 
true  wisdom  is  justified  of  all  her 
children.  The  little  boy  who  left  his 
satchel  and  his  school  to  run  after  the 
rainbow,  expecting  to  catch  it,  was  a 
philosopher  compared  to  the  idiots  in 
the  picture. 

Alexander,  called  the  "  Great," 
bought  the  title  of  "  Son  of  Jupiter" 
for  the  consideration  of  many  lives  of 
his  followers,  and  enduring  much  fa- 
tigue while  passing  through  burning 
and  distant  climes.     After  conquering 


mighty  kings  and  warriors,  lie  attain- 
ed the  pinnacle  of  honor  and  fame, 
and  adding  to  his  owai  dominions  the 
rest  of  the  earth,  he  became  master 
of  the  world,  and  then — he  wept  be- 
cause there  were  no  more  worlds  to 
conquer;  and,  at  the  age  of  thirty- 
two,  died  in  a  drunken  fit,  and  was 
laid  in  a  drunkard's  grave.  He  left 
his  extensive  empire  a  legacy  of  de- 
solation to  mankind. 

How  difl'erent  the  honors  which 
come  from  above!  The  Almighty 
Savior,  Jesus,  hath  ascended  up  on 
high ;  he  liatli  received  gifts  for  men — 
honors,  titles,  and  fame — in  abun- 
dance. The  saints,  who  are  the  ex- 
cellent of  the  earth,  God  delighteth 
to  honor.  Angels  are  their  body- 
guard, the  Savior  is  their  friend.  He 
confers  on  them  the  title  of  "  Suns  of 
God,"  of  "  Kings  and  Priests,"  who 
shall  possess  a  kingdom  that  shall  en- 
dure forever.  The'w  fame  is  immortal : 
the  righteous  shall  be  had  in  ever- 
lasting remembrance. 

The  honors  of  earth  come  from  in- 
constant mortals ;  the  honors  which 
are  spiritual  flow  from  the  unchange- 
able Jehovah.  The  lionors  of  earth 
are  sought  by  trampling  on  the  rights 
of  others;  tho.  honors  of  God  are 
sought  by  the  increase  of  human  hap- 
piness. Earthly  honors  are  unsatis- 
factory when  obtained;  the  honors  of 
God  fill  the  soul  with  bliss.  Earthly 
honors  are  transitory,  like  the  source 
from  whence  they  spring;  the  honors 
of  heaven  are  abiding,  like  their  Di- 
vine Author. 


IIELIGIOUS    EMBLEMR. 


45 


PHILLIPPI'NS, 

Chap,  iii: 
verse  20. 


HEBEP^WS, 
Chap.  X : 


verse  34.  ^m 


1  PETEK, 
Chap,  i: 
verse  4. 


ACTS, 
Chap,  vii 
verse  55. 


MATTHEW, 

Chap,  xiii : 
verse  43. 


J^     2  COPtlNTH'NS, 
Chap,  v: 
verse  4. 


PSALM 

Iv: 
verse  6. 


1  PETER, 

Chap,  i : 
verse  8. 


heave:n"ly  desire. 

For  I  am  in  a  strait  het)mxi  two,  having  a  desire  to  depart,  and  to 
be  with  Christ;  which  is  far  better.     Phil,  i:  23. 


Beiiolt)  the  Christian  where  he  doubtful  stands, 
Fa.st  bound  to  Friends  by  blooming  roseate  bands; 
He  feels  the  touch  of  love  on  earth  below, 
And   yet  to   heaven   straightway    would    gladly 

go; 

For  them,  more  needful  longer  here  to  stay, 
For  him,  far  better  thus  to  soar  away. 
As  when  safe-anchored  in  some  foreic^n  bay, 
The  ship  of  merchandise  may  proudly  lay ; 


The  Captain's  cleared,  with  passport,  to  set  sail, 

He  longs  for  home,  and  courts  the  coming  gale. 

The  general  interests  of  the  firm  demand 

His  longer  service  in  that  far-off  land; 

He  fain  would  weigh,   and  homeward  point  his 

prow, 
Yet  to  lus  duty  would  submissive  bow; 
Tliis  done,  he  11  trip,  and  loose  the  fiowing  sail, 
And  homeward  scud  before  the  sounding  gale. 


The  engraving  represents  an  affec- 
tionate Father,  who,  though  standwig 
on  tlie  worhl,  and  bound  with  tlie 
strong  cord  of  affection,  yet  looks 
upward,  evidently  longing  to  depart 
and  be  with  Christ,  which,  as  the 
Apostle  says,  is  far  better.  Though 
he  may  feel  this,  yet  oftentimes  he 
feels  strongly  bound  with  the  cords 


of  love  to  remain  with  the  objects  of 
his  affection  here  on  the  earth,  to 
Avhom  his  stay  at  present  seems  need- 
ful. He,  however,  does  not  consider 
this  world  as  his  abiding-place;  he 
has  it  beneath  his  feet;  he  is  looking 
upward,  atid  waiting  for  his  transla- 
tion to  one  above. 

Thus   the   Clmstian   stands    ready 


46 


EELIGIOUS    EMBLEMS. 


prepared,  and  longs  to  depart  and  be 
with  Christ ;  but  the  interests  of  earth 
exercise  an  influence  over  liim  and 
bind  him  down  with  the  golden  bands 
of  aiiectionate  love.  When  a  sinner 
becomes  a  saint,  his  relations  become 
changed,  "  old  things  have  passed 
away.  Behold  all  things  have  be- 
come new."  A  "  new  heart "  is  given, 
filled  wnth  love  to  God  and  man.  A 
new  world  is  presented  full  of  glori- 
ous realities,  substantial  and  eternal. 
A  new  God  is  given,  Jehovah  is  his 
name.  He  formerly  worshiped  the 
gods  of  this  world.  A  new  Savior  is 
embraced,  who  is  the  "  altogether 
lovely."  New  companions,  the  no- 
blest, the  wisest,  and  the  best.  He  is 
the  subject  of  anotlier  King,  one 
Jesus ;  the  citizen  of  another  city 
which  is  out  of  sight,  whose  Builder 
and  Maker  is  God ;  the  heir  of  an  in- 
heritance, wdiich  is  incorruptible,  un- 
defiled,  and  which  fadeth  not  away. 

No  wonder,  then,  if  he  should  often- 
times desire  to  depart  in  order  to  pos- 
sess all  this  happiness.  Wandering 
on  earth,  "here  he  has  no  abiding 
city;"  a  stratiger  and  pilgrim  as  all 
his  fathers  were.  Nevertheless,  he 
has  interests,  affections,  and  duties  of 
an  earthly  kind ;  these  have  a  weighty 
claim  upon  him;  they  are  connected 
with  God  and  eternity.  The  religion 
of  the  Bible,  while  it  strengthens  the 
powers  of  the  intellect,  and  sanctifies 


the,  soul,  does  also  increase  the  power 
of  natural  aflection,  and  makes  us 
capable  of  the  most  lively  emotions. 

The  true  minister  of  the  Gospel, 
like  the  great  Apostle,  would  cheer- 
fully lay  down  his  work  and  away  to 
Jesus,  but  the  interests  of  his  master 
demand  that  he  should  stay,  and  build 
up  the  w^aste  places  of  Jerusalem; 
therefore,  he  says,  "All  the  days  of 
my  appointed  time  will  I  wait  till  my 
change  come." 

The  pious  parent,  when  visited  by 
sickness,  would  fain  regard  it  as  a 
call  to  lieaven,  but  the  dear  pledges 
of  love  are  weeping  round  the  bed- 
side, and  their  youthful  state  demands 
a  faithful  guardian.  He  can  only  say, 
"I  am  in  a  strait  betwixt  two,  hav- 
ing a  desire  to  depart  and  be  with 
Christ,  A^hich  is  far  better.  Never- 
theless, to  abide  in  the  flesh  is  more 
needful  for  you;  the  will  of  the  Lord 
be  done." 


"  How  happy  is  tlie  pilgrim's  lot ! 
How  free  from  every  groveling  thought, 

From  worldly  hope  and  fear  ! 
Confined  to  neither  court  nor  cell, 
His  soul  disdains  on  earth  to  dweU, 

He  only  sojourns  here. 

"Nothing  on  earth  T  call  my  own: 
A  stranger  to  the  world,  unknown, 

I  all  their  wealth  despise; 
I  trample  on  their  whole  delight, 
And  seek  a  country  out  of  sight, 

A  country  in  the  skies." — Wesley. 


J 


liELIGlOUS    EMBLEMS.' 


PSALM 

Ixix: 

verses  15,  17 


PSALM 

cxix: 
verse  155. 


PSALM 

vi-: 
verse  4. 


PSALM 

Ixxi : 
verse  12. 


PSILLIPP'NS, 

Chap,  ii : 
verses  12,  13. 


PPtOVEEBS, 
Chap,  xi: 
verse  5. 


ISAIAH, 

Chap,  v: 
verse  22. 


PEOVERBS, 

Chap,  xxix: 

verse  1. 


THE    FATAL    ClJEPvENT. 


Escape  for  thy  life.     Gen.  xix:  17. 
Ephes.  ii:  2. 


The  course  of  this  loorld. 


Ses!  where  the  fatal  current,  broad  and  deep, 
Eolls  its  swift  waters  down  the  awful  steep; 
While  from  below  the  steaming  clouds  arise, 
And  spread  and  mingle  with  the  distant  skies; 
Two  men,  behold!   near  the  tremendous  verge, 
A  moment  sinks  them  'neath  the  boiling  surge, 


One  rows  for  life,  be  pulls  with  all  his  strength, 
And  from  the  danger  well  escapes  at  length: 
The  other  stops,  lays  in  his  oars  to  drink, 
While  nearer  drawing  to  the  dreadful  brink*; 
Jlis  jeers  and  taunts  he  still  persists  to  throw, 
And  sinks  unaided  down  the  gulf  below. 


The  engTavino:  sliows  the  fatal  cnr- 
rent  hurrying  on  its  rolliu:^  waters  to 
the  dread  abyss;  see  wliere  the  boil- 
ing cataract  sends  forth  its  cloudy 
vapors;  like  volumes  of  thick  smoke, 
they  rise  and  mingle  Avith  the  sur- 
rounding atmosphere.  On  the  stream, 
and  near  the  fji'tal  gulf,  two  men  are 
seen  in  their  frail  barks.  The  one  on 
the  left  hand,  knowing  his  dansrer, 
pulls  with  all  his  might.     Life  is  at 


stake;  he  stems  the  current.  By  dint 
of  mia-hty,  persevering  etlort,  he  es- 
capes the  vortex,  and  gets  beyond  the 
reach  of  danger. 

The  one  "on  the  right,  careless 
and  unconcerned,  suftcrs  his  little 
boat  to  glide  down  the  stream ;  he 
dreams  not  of  danger.  Pee!  he  has 
laid  in  his  oars,  he  is  drowning  thought 
bv  drinking  the  intoxicating  draught. 
He  points  the  finger  of  scorn  at  his 


43 


»EBLIGIOUS    EMBLEMS. 


more  thou2rhtful  and  laborious  com- 
panion. Il^otwithstanding  his  uncon- 
cern, the  stream  bears  him  onward; 
nearer  and  nearer  he  draws  toward 
the  awful  brink;  on,  and  on  he  drifts, 
till  all  at  once,  over  he  goes,  and  sinks 
into  the  roaring,  boiling  gulf  below. 

The  above  is  an  emblem  of  what 
follows:  The  gulf,  with  its  rising 
curling  vapors,  may  represent  the 
regions  of  the  damned,  where  the 
smoke  of  their  torment  ascendeth  up 
forever  and  ever. 

The  fatal  current  signifies  the 
"  course  of  this  world"  leading  there- 
into; the  streams  of  sin  that  eventu- 
ally lead  to  the  gates  of  death.  The 
man  on  the  left,  rowing  against  tide, 
represents  those  who  stem  the  tor- 
rents of  sin,  who  oppose  themselves 
to  the  course  of  this  world,  "  no  longer 
fulfilling  the  lasts  of  the  flesh,  nor  of 
the  mind."  Eternal  life  is  at  stake; 
tliey  agonize  that  they  may  prevail; 
they  endure  to  the  end,  and  are  saved. 

The  other,  on  the  right,  represents 
one  who  is  indifferent  about  salvation, 
wlio  indulges  in  sin  and  folly,  and 
who  even  ridicules  others  who  are 
striving  to  serve  God.  He  endeavors 
to  drown  his  conscience  by  drinking 
larger  draughts  of  sin,  and  by  plung- 
ing deeper  into  crime,  till,  carried 
onward  by  the  ruling  powers  of  evil, 
he  approaches  the  horrible  gulf,  into 
which  he  falls,  and  is  lost  forever. 


Dead  fish  may  frequently  be  seen 
floating  down  with  the  tide.  The  live 
fish  alone  stem  the  torrent,  and  swim 
against  the  stream.  So  those  dead  in 
trespasses  and  in  sins,  follow  the  course 
of  this  world;  they  are  borne  unre- 
sistingly down  the  fatal  stream.  But 
those  who  are  alive  spiritually,  those 
whom  God  hath  quickened,  oppose 
the  torrent,  make  headway  against  it, 
and,  by  divine  assistance,  work  out 
their  own  salvation,  full,  and  for- 
ever. 

The  patriarch  ]^oah  had,  in  his 
day,  to  swim  against  the  stream.  The 
floodgates  of  sin  were  opened;  the 
turgid  waters  rolled  down  with  fear- 
ful violence;  truth  and  justice  were 
well-nigh  swept  from  the  face  of  the 
earth.  Manfully  did  he  resist  the  de- 
scending torrent.  Like  a  rock,  he 
remained  immovable,  and  opposed  the 
overflowings  of  ungodliness.  He  was 
preserved. 

God  himself  bore  testimony  to  his 
righteousness.  He  was  crowned  with 
Divine  approbation,  and  permitted  to 
see  the  Boav  of  Promise.  At  the  same 
time,  the  miiltitude,  neglecting  to  stem 
the  tide,  were  borne  away  by  the  waves 
thereof,  "  down  to  the  gulf  of  black 
despair." 

Wlien  wildly  on  rolls  sin's  broad  tide 

To  caverns  of  despair, 
May  I  be  found  on  virtue's  side, 

And  meet  it  without  fear. 


RELIGIOUS    EMBLEMS 


40 


PSALM 

iii: 
verse  4. 


PSALM 

Ixxix : 

verse  9. 


1  PETER, 

Chap,  i : 
verses  5,  9. 


PSALM 

Ixii : 
verse  7. 


roma:n"s, 

Chap,  x: 
verse  17 


galatians, 

Chap,  v: 
verse  6. 


EPHESIANS, 
Chap,  ii: 


HEBREWS, 

Chap,  xi: 

verse  6. 


SALYATIO^sT   BY   FAITH. 

Let  not  the  water-flood  overflow  me,  neither  let  the  deep  swallow  me 

up.    Ps.  Ixix:  15. He  sent  from  above,  he  took  me,  he  drew  me 

out  of  many  waters.     Ps.  zviii:  16. 


The  pleasures  of  a  summer's  day  prevail, 
And  tempt  the  youth  to  hoist  the  flowing  sail: 
The  river,  placid,  rolls  its  waves  along. 
He  glides  exulting,  like  the  notes  of  song; 
But  soon  a  cloud,  dark,  brooding,  mounts  on  high, 
A  tempest  threatens,  soon  it  fills  the  sky; 
He  strikes  his  sail,  and  plies  the  lab'ring  oar, 
If  haply  he  may  reach  the  wished-for  shore: 
Now  booming  thunders  shake  the  solid  ground. 
And  angry  lightnings  fitful  flame  around: 
The  rains,  descending,  now  begin  to  lave, 


The  winds  come  dancing  o'er  the  rippling  wave. 
The  stream  still  bears  him  from  the  distant  sliore. 
Appalled  he  hears  the  cataract's  dreadful  roar. 
To  stay  on  board  is  deatli — he  leaps.     The  wave 
Still  beare  him  onward  to  the  yawning  grave. 
Just  as  he  reaches  tlie  terrific  brink. 
O'er  which,  if  plunged,  he  must  forever  sink. 
The  king  from  his  fair  palace  hastens  down — 
A  king  who  wears  far  more  than  regal  crown-^ 
He  saw  his  plight,  nor  feared  the  thunders'  roar. 
He  threw  the  rope  and  drew  him  safe  on  shore. 


A  yoiins:  tnan,  tempted  by  the  de- 
lightful stillness  of  a  summer's  day, 
launches  his  little  boat,  and  spreads 
his  sail.  The  light  winds  spring  up, 
and  bear  him  some  distance  from  the 
laud,  but  he  regards  it  not;  the  scen- 


ery is  lovely,  the  banks  of  the  river 
are  clad  in  the  beautiful  robes  of  the 
season ;  all  conspire  to  make  him  en- 
joy his  sail.  But  his  pleasure  is  short- 
lived; a  storm  arises,  he  strikes  sail, 
and  attempts  to  make  the  shore  by 


;)0 


EELIGIOUS    EMBLEJIS 


rowing,  but  he  can  not  succeed.  The 
eddying  winds  keep  him  in  the  mid- 
dle of  the  stream;  he  drifts  down  to 
the  place  where  there  is  a  tremendous 
cataract ;  he  hears  the  dreadful  roar- 
ing thereof;  his  heart  sinks  within 
him.  What  shall  he  do?  To  stay  in 
the  boat  is  death;  he  can  not  swim 
if  he  leaps  out,  yet  he  thinks  it  is  the 
best  course.  He  jumps  overboard; 
still  he  continues  to  drift  toward  the 
awful  gulf.  But  just  as  he  is  going 
over,  one  comes  to  the  rescue.  The 
king,  who  had  been  watching  him 
from  his  palace  on  the  hill,  hastens 
through  the  pelting  storm  down  to 
the  river-side,  and,  throwing  him  a 
rope,  draws  him  safe  to  land. 

This  emblem  sets  forth  the  glorious 
doctrine  of  Salvation  by  Faith.  The 
drowning  man  represents  the  sinner 
in  his  sins.  The  fearful  tempest — 
the  anguish  of  his  soul,  occasioned 
by  the  terrors  of  God's  violated  Law. 
The  forsaken  boat — his  self-righteous- 
ness. The  King  who  flies  to  his  help — 
the  Lord  Jesus  Christ.  Laying  hold 
of  the  rope — Faith.  His  arrival  on 
shore — Salvation.  And  as  the  indi- 
vidual rescued  would  most  assuredly 
ascribe  the  merit  of  his  deliverance  to 
the  prince  upon  the  bank,  and  by  no 


means  to  himself  for  seizing  the  rope, 
so  every  sinner  saved  by  Faith  will, 
despising  self,  give  the  glory  of  his 
salvation  to  Christ.  As  the  rope  con- 
nected the  man  dying  in  the  waters 
with  the  man  living  on  the  land,  so 
Faith  unites  the  sinner  to  Christ. 
The  power  or  ability  to  believe  is  the 
gift  of  God,  but  man  is  responsible 
for  the  use  of  the  power.  He  must 
lay  hold  of  the  rope.  God  does  not 
repent  for  man,  neither  does  He  be- 
lieve for  him,  yet  man  has  nothing 
whereof  to  glory.  By  grace  he  is 
saved  through  Faith,  and  that  not  of 
of  himself.  God  worketh  in  him  both 
to  will  and  to  do. 

"  With  pitying  eyes  the  Prince  of  Peace 
Belield  our  helpless  grief; 
He  saw,  and  0.  amazing  love! 
He  ran  to  our  relief 

"  Down  from  the  shining  seats  above, 
With  joyful  haste  he  fled, 
Enter'd  the  grave  in  mortal  flesh, 
And  dwelt  among  the  dead. 

"  0,  for  this  love,  let  rocks  and  hills 
Their  lasting  silence  break. 
And  all  harmonious  human  tongues 
The  Savior's  praises  speak. 

"  Angels,  assist  our  mighty  joys. 
Strike  loud  your  harps  of  gold; 
But  when  you  raise  your  highest  notes, 
His  love  can  ne'er  be  told." 


EELiaiOUS    EMBLEMS. 


51 


PEOYEEBS, 

Chap,  viii: 
verse  5. 


PEOVEEBS, 

Chap,  vi: 
verse  27. 


JOB, 

Chap,  xxxix: 

verse  17. 


PEOVEEBS, 

Chap,  ix: 

verse  4. 


PEOVEEBS, 

Chap,  vii: 

verse  7. 


PEOVEEBS, 
Chap,  x: 
verse  13. 


PEOVEEBS, 

Chap,  xvii: 
verse  18. 


PEOVEEBS, 

Cliap.  xxii: 

verse  15. 


SIMPLICITY,   OR  WA^^T    OF   U^^DERSTANDI^G. 

Be  not  children  in  understanding.     1  Cor.  xiv :  20. 


Deep  in  a  meadow  of  rich  verdure  green, 

A  .simple  child  of  beauteous  form  is  seen; 

Pleased  with  the  sei-pent"s  fascinating  charms, 

She  fondly  takes  it  to  her  circling  arms; 

Nor  of  the  brilliant  snake  thinks  aught  of  fear, 

Though  death  among  its  charms  lies  lurking  there. 

But  when  the  cricket's  harmless  form  appears. 


She's  much  aflFrighted,  and  bursts  forth  in  tears; 
Although  its  merry  chirp  no  dangers  bring, 
Nor  in  its  homely  shape  e'er  wears  a  sting. 
Just  so  the  youth,  deceived  by  beauty's  form. 
Nor  knows  that  roses  always  bear  a  thorn. 
Choose  then  for  mates  alone  the  good  and  wise, 
And  learn  the  homely  never  to  despise. 


The  engraving  shows  a  little  chikl, 
all  alone  in  a  field.  In  its  simplicity 
it  fondles  a  deadly  serpent ;  attracted 
by  its  brilliant  and  shining  colors,  the 
artless  child  takes  hold  of  it  withont 
fear.  She  is  about  to  take  it  to  her 
bosom,  when  the  cricket's  merry  chirp 
is  heard ;  she  is  startled.  In  a  moment 
the  lively  insect,  with  one  spring, 
stands  before  her.  Now  she  cries  out 
for  fear;  she  is  greatly  terrified.  Thus, 


in  her  simplicity,  she  courts  death,  and 

embraces  it ;  while  she  is  frightened' 
at  homeliness,  accompanied  by  inno- 
cence and  song. 

This  is  an  "emblem  of  the  yonng 
and  inexperienced.  The  term  simple, 
or  simplicity,  has  a  twofold  meaning 
in  Scripture".  There  are  "  the  simple  " 
whom  "  the  Lord  preserveth,"  and 
"the  simple"  who  "pass  on  and  are 
punished."     In  the  first  instance,  it 


52 


EELIGIOUS    EMBLEMS. 


signifies  sincerity,  innocence;  in  the 
second,  folly,  or  want  of  understand- 
ing. It  may,  therefore,  be  applied  to 
the  young,  and  the  inconsiderate  of 
all  ao:es,  who,  for  Avant  of  knowledge 
and  experience,  act  without  consider- 
ing the  consequences  of  their  actions. 

The  youth  knows  not  how  to  judge 
of  objects  that  present  themselves  be- 
fore him.  Inexperienced,  he  knows 
not  how  to  choose  aright.  He  is  in 
constant  danger  of  putting  evil  for 
good,  and  good  for  evil;  bitter  for 
sweet,  and  sweet  for  bitter.  Hence, 
he  needs  the  instruction  of  God's 
Holy  Word  to  enable  him  to  discern 
the  things  that  are  excellent;  to  prove 
all  things,  and  hold  fast  that  which 
is  good.  Above  all,  he  needs  the  en- 
lightening influences  of  the  Holy 
Spirit  to  "give  him  understanding," 
and  guide  him  into  all  truth. 

This  want  of  understanding,  more- 
over, displays  itself  in  the  wrong 
choice  that  is  often  made  of  com- 
panions; while  the  homely  person, 
who  may  have  much  of  wisdom  and 
goodness,  is  rejected,  the  accomplished 
villain  is  selected  as  a  bosom  friend. 
The  youth,  deceived  by  his  showy 
exterior  and  smooth  tongue,  unbosoms 
himself  to  him  without  reserve.  The 
villain  laughs  at  his  simplicity,  be- 
trays his  confidence,  and  leads  him 
into  ruin  irreparable. 

Hence,  how  necessary  it  is  that  the 
inexperienced  youth  should  seek  the 
counsel  of  the  aged  and  the  wise,  and 


follow  the  godly  admonitions  of  par- 
ents and  guardians.  This  would  save 
them  many  a  false  step,  and  much 
misery  in  after-life. 

Appearances  are  deceitful.  The 
ignus-fatuus  looks  like  a  friendly  light, 
but  it  betra3-s  the  unwary  traveler 
down  to  the  secret  chambers  of  death. 
Poisoned  berries  sometimes  look  like 
tempting  grapes;  ice,  though  it  may 
seem  firm,  oftentimes  breaks  in,  and 
plunges  the  rash  j^outh  into  a  watery 
grave;  wine,  when  it  giveth  its  color 
in  the  cup,  at  the  last  it  biteth  like 
a  serpent,  and  stingeth  like  an  adder. 
It  was  when  Eve  saw  that  the  tree 
was  pleasant  to  the  eyes,  that  she 
took  of  the  fruit  thereof,  by  which 
act  she  lost  Eden,  and  brought  death 
iuto  our  world,  and  all  our  woe. 

If,  then,  an  act  seem  to  be  right,  be 
sure  it  is  so  before  you  do  it.  If  any 
thing  appears  to  be  good,  be  sure  it 
is  so  before  you  touch  it.  If  any  of 
your  acquaintance  seem  to  be  virtu- 
ous, be  sure  they  are  so  ere  you  take 
them  for  bosom  friends.  "  The  simple 
pass  on  and  are  punished  ;  but  he  that 
trusteth  in  the  Lord  shall  be  deliv- 
ered." 


"  Ye  simple  souls  that  stray 

Far  from  the  paths  of  peace, 
That  lonely,  unfrequented  way 

To  life  and  happiness; 
Why  will  ye  folly  love, 

And  throng  tlie  downward  road, 
And  hate  the  wisdom  from  above, 

And  mock  the  sons  of  God  ?" 


KELIGIOUS    EMBLEMS, 


53 


PSALM 

XXV : 
verse  19. 


V 


PSALM 

cix: 
verse  2. 


PSALM 
xxxviii: 
verso  19. 


?  TIMOTH. 
Chap,  iii : 
verse  12. 


•JOHN, 

Chap.  XV ; 
verse  20. 


2  COEIXTH'NS, 

Chap,  iv: 

verse  9. 


IIEBEEWS, 
Chap,  x: 
verse  32. 


PSALM 

cxviii: 

verse  11. 


THE   TERSECUTED   CIIRISTIAIS". 

3Iij  soul  is  among  lions.     Ps.  Icii:  4. 0,  that  I  had  idnrjs  like 

a  dove!  for  then  I loould  fly  away  and  be  at  rest.     Ps.  Iv:  6. 


Lo!  where  the  Christian  walks  in  sore  distress, 
While  various  evils  round  about  him  press, 
Fierce  persecution  as  a  wild  bull  found, 
With  rage  he  roars  and  tears  the  solid  ground; 
The  mean  backbiter,  like  a  snarling  cur, 
Assails  behind,  his  character  to  slur; 
Blander,  grown  bold,  in  form  of  wolf  appears, 
Jlaveniug  for  prey,  the  innocent  he  tears: 


The  adder  envy  lies  along  his  path, 

And  works  in  secret  witli  its  sting  of  death; 

Fraud,  like  the  crocodile,  now  lays  his  snares. 

To  catch  the  unsuspecting  unawares; 

Oppression,  outrage,  is  flie  lion  mad, 

When  naught  but  blood  his  cruel  heart  can  glad; 

Fordove-like  wings  the  Christian  prays,  opprcss'd, 

To  fly  to  mansions  of  eternal  rest. 


The  engravino^  shows  a  poor  man 
in  great  distress.  Far  from  home, 
and  apparently  unprotected,  he  is  he- 
set  with  enemies  on  every  side.  lie 
knows  not  wliich  way  to  turn.  Be- 
hind, he  fears  the  hellowing  of  the 
furious  hull,  maddened  with  rage, 
threatening  to  overtake  and  destroy 
him;  while  the  dastard  cur  yelps  after 


him,  close  at  his  heels.  Before  him 
is  the  ferocious  lion,  gloating  himself 
with  the  hlood  of  his  innocent  victim; 
while  the  adder  coils  itself  about  his 
path,  ready  to  pierce  him  with  its 
deadly  sting.  On  one  hand  is  seen 
the  hungry  wolf,  ravening  for  prey; 
on  the  other,  the  insidious  crocodile, 
waiting  to  seize  upon  liira,  and  drag 


54 


EELIGIOUS    EMBLEMS, 


him  down  to  his  den  of  rushes.  In 
this  hopeless  condition,  lie  longs  for 
the  wings  of  the  dove  which  he  sees 
flying  over  his  head,  for  then  he  would 
escape  them  all ;  he  would  fly  away 
from  the  forest  of  wild  heasts  to  the 
open  wilderness;  there  would  he  he 
at  rest. 

This  is  an  emblem  of  what  the 
Christian  oftentimes  has  to  sufler 
while  passing  through  this  world  to 
his  eternal  home.  Sometimes  perse- 
cution, like  the  mad  bidi  and  furious 
lion  seen  in  the  picture,  rages,  and 
threatens  to  destroy  Christianity  itself, 
and  to  blot  out  the  remembrance  of 
it  from  the  earth.  The  prophet 
Daniel  was  thus  assailed,  and  cast 
into  a  den  of  lions.  The  early  Chris- 
tians were  subjected  to  ten  flerce  and 
blood}^ persecutions,  which  terminated 
not  until  the  Church  had  lost  its  char- 
acter for  holiness. 

In  the  short  reign  of  the   bloody  i 
Queen  Mary  (about  Ave  years),  of  flre- 
and-fagot  memory,  persecution  in  this  j 
form   devoured   277  persons,   among  j 
whom  were  5  bishops,  21  clergymen, 
8  gentlemen  of  fortune,  84  tradesmen, 
100  husbandmen,  55  women,   and  4 
children.    Tliese  were  all  burned  alive, 
besides  numerous  confiscations,  etc. 

Persecution,  however,  exists  very 
frequently  in  a  difterent  form  from 
the  above.  The  backbiter  plies  his 
mean,  cowardly  trade,  in  order  to  in- 
jure the  character  of  the  righteous. 
The  barking,  snarling  cur  is  the  most 
useless  of  the  dog  kind;  so  the  back- 


biter is  the  most  despicable  among 
men.  Yet  is  he  able,  oftentimes,  to 
vex  the  soul  of  the  pious. 

Sometimes  slander,  grown  bold, 
like  a  hungry  wolf,  attacks  the  repu- 
tation of  the  man  of  God,  as  Shimel 
assailed  David  in  the  day  of  his  ad- 
versity; or,  like  a  hyena,  it  will  ran- 
sack the  grave,  and  defame  the  dead. 
This  creature  is  considered  the  most 
ferocious  and  untamable  of  all  ani- 
mals. It  follows  the  flocks,  ravages 
the  sheep-folds,  and,  when  destitute 
of  other  provisions,  will  burrow  into 

f raves,  and  devour  pu*rid  human 
odies  that  have  long  been  buried. 
Enmj  is  known  to  plot  in  secret  the 
destruction  of  that  excellence  she  can 
not  reach ;  while  fraud  takes  advan- 
tage of  the  unsuspecting  child  of  God, 
and  seeks  to  draw  him  into  sin  and 
trouble.  In  the  midst  of  his  perse^ 
cutions,  the  Christian  would  fain  bor- 
row the  wings  of  the  dove,  and  seek 
refuge  in  some  vast  wilderness,  "some 
boundless  contiguity  of  shade,"  or, 
rather,  the  wings  of  some  heavenly 
cherub;  then  would  he  fly  to  man- 
sions of  eternal  repose,  "where  the 
wicked  cease  from  troubling,  and 
where  the  weary  are  forever  at  rest." 

"  When  rising  floods  my  soul  o'erflow, 
When  sinks  my  heart  in  waves  of  woe, 
Jesus,  thy  limely  aid  impart, 
And  raise  my  head,  and  cheer  my  heart. 

"  If  rough  and  stormy  be  the  way, 
My  strength  proportion  to  my  day, 
Till  toil,  and  grief,  and  pain  shall  cease, 
Where  all  is  calm,  and  joy,  and  peace." 


RELIGIOUS    EMBLEMS. 


55 


2  CORmTH'NS, 
Chap.  V 
verse  4. 


ROMAN^S, 

Chap,  viii: 
verse  2L 


HEBREWS, 

Chaj3.  ii: 
verse  15. 


GALATIANS, 

Chap,  iv: 
verse  3. 


ACTS, 
Chap.  XX : 
verse  23. 


JOHN, 

Chap,  xvi: 

verse  33. 


JOB, 

Chap,  xxiii: 

verse  3. 


PSALM 

cxlii : 
verse  7. 


THE   SOUL  m  BONDAGE. 

0,  wretched  man  that  I  am  1  who  shall  deliver  me  from  the  body  of 
this  death  ?     Rom.  vii :  24. 


Horror  of  horrors!  what  a  sight  is  here! 
Life  linked  with  death,  in  terror  and  despair, 
Thus  cruel  tyrants,  when  they  won  the  field, 
Were  wont  to  punish  those  compeli'd  to  yield. 
The  wounded  captive,  writhing  still  with  pain, 
Was  made  to  wear  the  adamantine  chain, 
That  round  the  limbs  of  one  new  slain  was  led, 
And  bound  the  living  to  the  putrid  dead. 
Till,  choked  with  stench,  the  lingering  victim  lay. 
And  breathed  in  agony  his  life  away. 
'Tis  thus  the  soul,  enlightened  by  the  word, 
Descries  the  path  that  upward  leads  to  God; 
And  fain  would  run,  but  feels  a  galling  chain. 


That  quickly  drags  him  to  the  world  again. 

Corruption's  body  opens  to  his  eye. 

He  sees  the  cause,  but  oh!  he  can  not  fly. 

Who,  who?  he  asks,  with  trembling,  struggling 

breath, 
Will  save  me  from  this  fearful  mass  of  death! 
He  calls  on  Moses  now  to  break  his  chain, 
Moses  is  deaf — he  calls  on  him  in  vain; 
He  calls  on  Jesus — wondrous  name! — he  hears. 
And    breaks    his    chain,    and    scatters    all    his 

fears. 
Now,  like  the  bird  that  from  its  prison  flies. 
On  wings  of  love  soars  upward  to  the  skies. 


This  engravins^  represents  the  hor- 
rid custom  of  ancient  tyrants,  who, 
in  order  to  strike  terror  into  the 
hearts  of  their  enemies,  invented  a 
mode  of  punishment  more  terrible 
than  death  itself.     They  chained  the 


living  prisoner  to  the  body  of  a  dead 
person.  Yirgil,  referring  to  this  mon- 
strous practice,  says:  "The  tyrants 
inflicted  a  punishment  hitherto  un- 
heard of;  they  bound  the  living  to 
the  dead,  limb  to  limb,  and  face  to 


56 


RELIGIOUS    EMBLEMS, 


face,  until  suffocated  with  the  abom- 
inable stench;  in  loathsome  embraces 
they  gave  up  the  ghost."  This  mode 
of  torture  was  considered  more  ap- 
palling than  that  of  burning  alive, 
breaking  upon  the  rack,  or  even  cru- 
cifixion itself. 

It  is,  no  doubt,  to  this  custom  that 
the  Apostle  Paul  alludes  in  his  Epis- 
tle to  the  Romans.  No  other  image 
could  so  well  illustrate  his  meaning. 
His  readers  were  familiar  with  it. 
Peter,  sleeping  in  the  prison,  bound 
with  chains  to  the  bodies  of  two  live 
men,  would  not  suit  the  apostle's  pur- 
pose. It  is  very  important  that  we 
try  to  make  oat  his  meaning.  I  am 
brought,  he  says,  into  "  captivity  to 
the  law  of  sin,"  and  wounded,  con- 
quered, and  chained  to  this  body  of 
death.  The  soul  is  under  the  law  or 
power  of  sin,  and  chained  to  a  body 
of  death — a  mass  of  corruption.  An 
evil  heart,  unhol}^  passions,  depraved 
affections  predominate.  The  light  of 
the  Holy  Spirit  shines  into  the  soul, 
and  the  man  discovers  that  the  law 
of  God  is  holy,  just,  and  good,  and 
fain  would  keep  it;  that  God  himself 
is  indeed  altogether  lovely,  and  he 
would  acquaint  himself  wdth  him. 
He  now  sees  the  path  that  leads  to 
endless  life,  and  he  desires  to  walk  in 
it.  But  when  he  would  do  good,  evil 
is  present  with  him;  when  he  would 
approach  the  seat  of  Divine  perfec- 
tions, something  keeps  him  back; 
when  he  would  walk  in  the  path  of 


life,  he  finds  himself  enchained.  Now 
he  follows  the  links  of  his  chain,  and 
discovers  the  body  of  corruption  to 
which  it  is  secured. 

He  tries  to  free  himself  by  some 
good  things  he  did  years  ago ;  this 
only  makes  the  case  worse.  He  calls 
on  his  friends  for  help ;  but  vain  is 
the  help  of  man.  He  calls  upon 
Moses,  he  tries  to  reform  his  outward 
deportment;  but  by  "the  deeds  of 
the  law"  he  can  not  extricate  him- 
self. At  length,  in  the  bitterness  of 
his  soul,  he  exclaims,  "  0,  wretched 
man  that  I  am !  who  shall  deliver  me 
from  this  body  of  death  ?"  And  now 
the  angel  of  mercy  directs  him  to  the 
Breaker  of  chains,  the  Abolisher  of 
death,  the  Conqueror  of  the  grave, 
the  glorious  Giver  of  life  and  immor- 
tality— Jesus  Emanuel,  God  with  us. 
■The  Savior  is  propitious,  deliverance 
is  obtained,  and  the  soul,  like  a  bird 
escaped  from  the  snare  of  the  fowler, 
sings  triumphantly: 

"  What  though  I  could  not  break  my  chain, 
Or  e'er  cast  off  my  load, 
The  things  impossible  to  men, 
Are  possible  to  God." 


"  Love  only  can  the  conquest  win, 
The  strength  of  sin  subdue, 
(Mine  own  unconquerable  sin) 
And  form  my  soul  anew. 

"Faith,  mighty  Faith,  the  promise  sees, 
And  looks  to  that  alone; 
Laughs  at  impossibilities, 

And  cries,  '  It  shall  be  done.'" 


EELIGIOUS    EMBLEMS 


MATTHEW, 
Chap,  xvi: 
verse  24. 


2  TIMOTHY; 

Chap,  ii: 
verse  3. 


EOMANS, 

Chap,  viii : 
verse  13. 


LUKE, 

Chap,  xii: 
verses  19/20. 


AMOS, 

Chap,  vi: 
verses  1-8. 


LUKE, 

Chap,  xvi; 
verse  25. 


EPHESIANS, 
Chap,  vi: 
verse  8. 


AMOS, 
Chap,  v: 
verse  19. 


DA:N'GER   of   SELF-mDULGE^CE. 

Ttiere  is  a  icay  that  seemeth  right  unto  a  man;  but  the  end  thereof 
are  the  loays  of  death.     Prov.  xvi:  25. 


With  cbeerful  step,  at  blush  of  early  day, 
The  traveler  began  his  arduous  way ; 
He  seeks  at  noon  some  pleasant,  cool  retreat, 
Where  he  may  shelter  from  the  noontide  heat. 
But  oh!  beneath  a  tuft  of  flowery  green, 
A  poisonous  serpent  slily  lurks  unseen; 
With  deadly  aim  he  from  his  covert  flies. 


The  traveler,  wounded,  in  the  forest  dies. 
Thus  some  begin  to  run  the  Christian  race, 
And  for  awhile  keep  up  a  steady  pace; 
Till  soft  indulgence  near  their  path  lays  wait, 
And  spreads  deceitfully  hor  pleasing  bait; 
O'ercome  by  sloth,  to  sin  they  fall  a  prey, 
And  never  more  pursue  the  good  old  way. 


This  engraving  represents  a  trav- 
eler fatally  bitten  by  a  serpent.  Witli 
a  light  heart  and  a  itirm  step  he  started 
on  his  journey  at  early  dawn.  Every 
thing  hjoked  lovely  around  him;  he 
thought  of  nothing  but  success.  He 
journeyed  on  very  well  until  the  hour 
of  noon  arrived,  when  he  began  to 
grow  somewhat  tired.  He  looked 
round  for  some  cool,  sequestered  spot, 


where  he  might  while  away  a  few 
hours.  At  a  little  distance  from  the 
path,  he  discovered  a  pleasant,  shady 
grove.  For  a  moment  he  hesitated; 
but  his  love  of  ease  prevailed.  iSTow 
he  forgets  every  thing  except  his  pres- 
ent convenience;  he  enters  the  grove; 
he  is  delighted  with  its  cool  air  and 
agreeable  fragrance. 

Suddenly  he  is  bitten  to  the  quick. 


58 


EELIGIOUS    EMBLEMS. 


A  serpent,  concealed  hitherto  in  the 
grass,  fixes  in  his  flesh  its  poisonons 
ftmg;  the  wound  is  mortal;  his  life's 
blood  is  poisoned;  fires  intolerable 
coarse  through  his  veins.  He  now 
repents  of  his  folly  ;  he  wishes  he  had 
borne  the  heat  of  the  day.  The  venom 
reaches  his  heart;  he  thinks  of  home 
and  friends;  his  spirits  sink,  his  head 
swims,  his  eyes — they  close  in  death. 
The  leaves  of  autumn  are  strewn 
around  him,  and  the  place  that  knew 
him  knows  him  now  no  more  forever. 
This  is  an  emblem  of  the  danger 
of  self-indulgence.  With  alacrity  and 
delight  the  convert  sets  out  on  his 
journey  to  the-  kingdom  of  heaven. 
He  anticipates  the  pleasures  he  will 
meet  with  on  his  arrival.  lie  thinks 
not  of  the  dangers  of  the  road,  nor 
of  his  own  besetments.  For  awhile 
he  makes  rapid  progress.  By  and 
by  persecution  and  trouble  come  upon 
him ;  he  grows  wear3^  He  looks 
round  for  some  other  way,  that  lias 
in  it  less  of  danger  and  difiiculty. 
Soon  he  discovers  one  apparently 
more  easy  and  pleasing  to  flesh  and 
blood.  For  awhile  he  stands  in  doubt; 
Ills  love  of  self-indulgence  overcomes 
him.  "  He  will  not  endure  hardness 
as  a  good  soldier  of  Jesus  Christ." 
He  enters  the  forbidden  path.  Now 
all  seems  pleasant  and  delightful. 
The  pleasures  of  the  road  lull  to  sleep 
his  spiritual  senses.  Sin,  now  like  a 
serpent,  assails  him ;  he  has  now  no 


strength  to  resist ;  he  falls  a  victim  to 
his  folly;  guilt  and  remorse  now  sting 
him  to  the  quick.  "  Fool  that  I  was," 
he  exclaims.  "0!  that  I  had  con- 
tinued in  the  path  of  duty."  It  is 
too  late.  Wretched  man,  self-indul- 
gence has  proved  his  ruin. 

The  disobedient  prophet  fell  a  vic- 
tim to  self-indulgence,  when  he  turned 
aside  to  "  eat  bread  and  drink  water," 
and  a  lion  met  him  by  the  way  and 
slew  him.  The  five  foolish  virgins, 
also,  who  '•  slumbered  and  slept," 
when  they  ought  to  have  been  watch- 
ing, fell  by  the  same  insidious  foe. 
They  awoke  in  outer  darkness,  and 
found  the  door  of  the  kingdom  of 
heaven  fast  closed  against  them  for- 
ever. 

"  If  any  man  will  be  my  disciple," 
said  the  Savior,  "  let  him  deny  himself, 
take  up  his  cross,  and  follow  me."  To 
thenr  who  by  ijciticnt  continuartce  in 
well-doing  seek  for  glory,  and  honor, 
and  immortality,  eternal  life.  "  He 
that  endurcth  to  the  end,  the  same  shall 
be  saved." 


"  Deny  thyself,  and  iaice  thy  cross, 

Is  the  Kedeemer's  great  command  ! 
Nature  must  count  her  gold  but  dross, 
If  she  would  gain  this  heavenly  land. 

"  The  fearful  soul  that  tires  and  faints, 
And  walks  the  ways  of  God  no  more, 
Is  hut  esteem'd  almost  a  saint, 

And  makes  his  own  destruction  sure." 
Dr.  Waits. 


IIELIGIOUS    EMBLEMS, 


59 


PKOYBRBS, 

Chap,  vi: 
vci'se  9. 


PEOVERBS, 
Chap,  x: 
verse  5. 


THESSALO'KS, 
Chap,  v: 
verse  6. 


EPHESIANS, 

Chap.  V : 
verse  14. 


THESSALO'XS, 

Chap,  v: 


ACTS, 
Chap,  iii : 
verse  23. 


PSALM 

Ixxiii : 

verse  18. 


EOMA^^S, 

Chap,  viii: 

verse  G. 


CARI^AL    SECimiTY. 

Surely  thou  didst  set  them  in  slippery  places;  thou  castedst  them 
down  into  destruction.     Ps.  Ixxiii:  18. 


See  here  portrayed,  a  gently-rising  ground, 
With  tulips  gay,  and  blooming  roses  crowned; 
Where  flowers  of  various  Imes,  or  gay,  or  fair, 
Mingle  their  sweetness  with  the  balmy  air; 
While  woodland  minstrels  stoop  upon  the  wing, 
Attune  their  notes,  and  softest  carols  sing; 


A  youth  lies  sleeping  on  the  roseate  bed, 
Heedless  of  dangers,  thus  to  ruin  led  ; 
A  horrid  gulf  of  thickest  night  is  there, 
Where  hope  ne'er  comes,  but  darkness  and  despair; 
A  turn — a  move — and  in  the  gulf  he'll  roll. 
Where  fiei-y  billows  pi'ey  upon  the  soul. 


It  is  by  ascending  "  a  gently-rising 
ground,"  and  not  b\'  overleaping  the 
abrupt  precipices,  that  the  youth  at- 
tains his  dangerous  position — his  bad 
eminence.  "  Sin  is  first  pleasin<ir,  then 
easy,  then  delightful,  then  confirmed; 
then  the  man  is  impenitent,  then  he 
is  obstinate,  then  he  resolves  never  to 
repent,  and  then  he  is  damned." 

Sin  possesses  a  peculiar  faculty  to 
deceive;  this  is  true  of  sin  iu  all  its 


modifications.  It  allures,  that  it  may 
betray  and  destroy.  It  meets  ti^.e 
youth  with  smiles  onl}'^,  that  it  may 
plunge  a  dagger  more  surely  in  tha 
heart.  It  promises  to  the  gambler, 
the  robber,  and  murderer,  wealth, 
pleasure,  kingdoms.  But  having  filled 
the  cup  of  hope  to  the  brim,  with 
cruel  mocking  it  is  exchanged  for  the 
chalice  of  despair. 

Sin  adapts  itself  to  the  various  de- 


60 


EELIGIOUS    EMBLEMS. 


praved  appetites  or  propensities  of 
man.  To  all  its  votaries  it  promiseth 
the  pleasures  of  this  life.  But  "  the 
wages  of  sin  is  death."  To  all  like- 
wise it  oflers  perfect  security,  crying 
peace,  safety,  when  sudden  destruc- 
tion is  at  hand. 

As  sin  is  thus  deceptive  in  its  pro- 
mises, and  fatal  in  its  results,  so  also 
is  it  in  its  influence  on  the  human 
mind.  It  hlinds  the  eyes,  it  hardens 
the  heart,  it  sears  the  conscience,  it 
fascinates  the  imagination,  it  perverts 
the  judgment,  it  gives  a  wrong  bias 
to  the  will,  it  effaces  from  the  mem- 
ory recollections  of  the  beautiful  and 
the  good.  In  a  word,  it  throws  the 
pall  of  the  grave  over  the  whole  man, 
and  hides  from  his  view,  his  guilt, 
his  danger,  and  his  immortality. 

The  man  is  now  wrapped  in  the 
mantle  of  ^'■carnal  security-"  he  is  in- 
sensible to  all  around  him.  The  path 
of  sinful  pleasure  is  strewed  with  Plu- 
tonian flowers.  They  breathe  the  odor 
of  the  pit,  stupifyiug  to  the  senses. 
The  bewitching  music  of  the  great 
enchanter,  casts  the  soul  into  a  deep 
sleep.  It  is  like  the  sleep  of  the  grave. 

Perhaps  he  is  dreaming  of  happi- 
ness that  he  will  never  enjoy ;  per- 
haps of  home,  that  he  shall  never  be- 
hold; or  of  friends,  whom  he  shall 
embrace  no  more  forever.  In  the 
midst  of  his  dreams  of  delight,  the 
bow  of  the  Almighty  is  strung;  the 


arrow  is  made  ready,  the  dart  of  death 
is  uplifted,  ready  to  tall  upon  the  un- 
conscious victim;  the  pit  has  opened 
its  mouth  to  receive  the  prey.  jSTo- 
thingbut  the  voice  of  God  can  arouse 
him  from  his  lethargy. 

"What  meanest  thou,  0  sleeper! 
Arise  and  call  upon  God,  if  so  be  that 
thou  perish  not.  Awake,  thou  that 
sleepest ;  and  arise  from  the  dead,  and 
Christ  shall  give  thee  light." 

"  Rejoice,  0  young  man,  in  thy 
youth,  and  let  thy  heart  cheer  thee 
in  the  days  of  thy  youth  ;  walk  thou 
in  the  ways  of  thy  heart,  and  in  the 
sight  of  thy  eyes.  But  know,  that 
for  all  these  things  God  will  bring 
thee  into  judgment." 

"  Ye  sons  of  Adam,  vain  and  young, 
Indulge  your  eyes,  indulge  your  tongue; 
Taste  the  delights  your  souls  desire, 
And  give  aloose  to  all  your  fire. 

"  Pursue  the  pleasures  you  design, 
And  cheer  your  lieartswith  songs  and  wine; 
Enjoy  the  day  of  mirth ;   but  know, 
There  is  a  day  of  judgment  too. 

"  God  from  on  high  beholds  your  thoughts, 
His  book  records  your  secret  faults; 
The  works  of  darkness  you  have  done, 
Must  all  appear  before  the  sun. 


"  The  dust  returns  to  dust  again; 
The  soul,  in  agonies  of  pain, 
Ascends  to  God,  not  there  to  dwell. 
But  hears  her  doom,  and  sinks  to  hell." 


EELIGIOUS    EMBLEMS 


6J 


PEOYERBS, 

Chap,  xxvii : 

verse  4. 


ACTS, 
Chap,  vii : 


verse  9.  ^b 


JAMES, 

Chap,  iv: 

verse  5. 


PROYEEBS, 
Chap,  x: 
verse  12. 


GALATIANS, 

Chap,  v: 
verse  20. 


ROMANS, 
Chaji.  i : 
verse  29. 


TITUS, 

Chap,  iii; 

verse  3. 


^,      EEYELATION, 
Chap,  xviii: 
verse  2. 


THE  THREEFOLD  DEMOX,  OR  El^YY,  HATRED,  AITD  MALICE. 

Where  envying  and  strife  is,  there  is  confusion  and  every  evil  ivork. 

James  iii:  16. Wrath  is  cruel,  and  anger  is  outrageous;  but 

who  is  able  to  stand  before  envy?     Prov.  xxx:  11. 


Lo!  where  the  threefold  demon  stalks  along, 
The  work  of  desolation  to  prolong; 
Envy,  and  hate,  and  malice,  all  combined, 
To  make  afflictions,  and  torment  mankind. 
Forward  the  demon  strides  in  sullen  mood, 
And  chews  a  viper  for  her  daily  food; 
Loaded  with  slanders,  and  with  poison  strong, 
She  deals  them  largely  to  the  gaping  throng: 
Her  eyes  are  weak,  and  in  disorder  d  plight, 
And  hence  a  blinder  to  keep  off  the  light. 


To  show  that  from  without  proceeds  her  pain. 
She  leans  with  anguish  on  a  thorny  cane: 
At  others'  excellence  she  pines  straightway, 
Hate  brings  her  malice  into  active  play; 
Good  name  she  tears,  and  scatters  to  the  air 
All  other  epithets  of  good  and  fair: 
A  spotless  character  wherever  found, 
With  hate  she  tramples  on  the  miry  ground', 
While  in  her  train  behold  a  tempest  rise, 
That  swells  and  reaches  to  the  topmost  skies. 


In  the  engraving  is  represented  a  |  She  is  chewing  the  flesh  of  a  viper, 
threefold  demon  striding  forward,  |  which  thns  introduced  in  her  system, 
with  sullen  pace,  in  order  to  torment  i  poisons  her  heart's  blood,  and  disor- 
maidvind.  On  her  back  she  carries  a  j  ders  her  eyesight.  In  her  left  hand 
pack  of  slanders;  under  her  arm  a  she  grasps  a  thorny  staff;  this  is  to 
quantity  of  poison:  thus  she  is  thor-  |  show  that  she  torments  herself  volun- 
oughly  furnished  for  her  hellish  work.  I  tarily.     She  banquets  on  the  destruc- 


62 


EELIGIOUS    EMBLEMS. 


tion  of  human  liappiiiess.  See!  how 
she  tramples  upon  character,  and  scat- 
ters to  the  four  winds  the  reputation 
of  others.  She  leaves  hehind  her,  and 
following  in  her  train,  a  gathering, 
blackening  tempest,  surcharged  with 
the  "  fire  of  hell,"  soon  to  burst  upon 
mankind. 

This  emblem  represents  Envy,  Ha- 
tred, and  Malice  united  in  one  jierson, 
and  forming  a  being  of  extraordinary 
malignity.  There  are  many  such  in 
human  shape — demons  wearing  the 
mask  of  human  form,  beings  whose 
eyes  are  pained  at  the  sight ^of  either 
excellence  or  happiness,  whose  heart 
is  corroded  with  the  poison  of  envi- 
ous and  malicious  thoughts,  self-tor- 
mented with  the  thorns  of  their  own 
creation — beings  who  never  smile  but 
at  the  tears  of  others,  whose  hellish 
joy  consists  in  the  wreck  of  human 
happiness,  and  whose  only  music  is 
the  voice  of  lamentation  and  woe — 
beings  of  Satanic  inspiration.  They 
are  always  well  furnished  with  slan- 
ders, and  never  want  for  opportunity 
to  vent  them.  In  this  they  copy  after 
their  great  father,  the  prime  enemy 
of  man.  When  beholding  the  orig- 
inal of  the  first  human  ]>air  in  the 
bowers  of  Eden,  ere  he  effected  their 
overthrow, 


— Aside  the  devil  turn'd 

For  envy;  yet  with  jealous  leer  malign 


Eyed  them  askance,  and  to  himselfthus  'plain'd, 
'Sight  hateful,  sight  tormenting! '  " 

There  is  great  propriety  in  repre- 
senting the  union  of  envy,  hatred,  and 
malice  in  one  individual.  Envy  itself 
is  defined  to  be  "  pain  felt  and  ma- 
lignity conceived  at  the  sight  of  ex- 
cellence or  happiness."  But  when 
envy  conceives,  it  brings  forth  hatred; 
and  hatred,  when  it  is'finished,  brings 
forth  malice.  We  have  a  striking 
example  of  this  union  in  the  conduct 
of  Joseph's  brethren  toward  him. 
First,  "they  envied  him,"  probably 
on  account  of  his  superior  excellence; 
then  "they  hated  him,"  in  conse- 
quence of  the  partial  conduct  of 
Jacob  their  father;  and  finally,  in 
their  malice  "they  sold  him"  for  a 
slave. 

A  still  greater  example  occurs  in 
the  conduct  of  the  Jews  toward  the 
blessed  Redeemer,  in  whom  all  ex- 
cellences met,  when  "for  envy  they 
delivered  him"  into  the  hands  of  the 
Romans;  they  envied  him  for  the 
splendor  of  holiness  that  shone  around 
his  path.  In  their  hatred  they  ex- 
claimed, "  He  hath  a  devil,"  and  in 
their  bloodthirsty  malice,  "they  cried 
out  the  more,  saying,  Let  him  be  cru- 
cified." 

If  envy,  malice,  hatred  reigns, 
And  binds  my  soul  with  slavish  chains, 
0  Lord,  thy  heavenly  love  impart, 
And  drive  the  demon  from  my  heart 


BELIGIOUS    EMBLEMS 


03 


EOMANS, 
Chap,  x: 

verses  8-17. 


HEBEEWS, 

Chap,  xi : 
verses  1,  6. 


TITUS, 

Chap,  i : 
verse  3. 


1  JOHN, 
Chap,  v: 
verse  4. 


EPHESIANS, 

Chap,  ii: 
verse  8. 


^        GALATIANS, 
^  Chap,  vi: 

verse  14. 


^        COLOSSIAINS, 
Chap,  i : 
verse  20. 


1  PETER, 
Chap,  i : 
verse  5. 


CHRISTIAN"  FAITH,   OR  RELIGION. 

While  we  look  not  at  the  things  ivhich  are  seen,  but  at  the  things 

which  are  not  seen.     2  Cor.  iv:  18. For  ice  walk  by  faith,  not 

by  sight.     2  Cor.  v:  7. 


High  on  the  workl,  see  where  Religion  stands 
And  bears  the  open  volume  in  her  hands; 
With  eyes  upraised,  she  seeks  for  heavenly  light 
To  know  its  doctrines  and  its  laws  aright: 
The  cross  of  Christ  she  bears,  and  walks  abroad, 


And  holds  communion  with  her  Father,  God. 
Thus  with  the  Christian:   filled  with  love  divine. 
Above  the  world  he  soars  in  heavenly  clime. 
The  sacred  cross  his  only  hope  and  stay. 
The  Book  of  Truth  his  guide  from  day  to  day. 


Christian  Faith  or  Religion  is  here 
represented  standing  njion  a  globe. 
This  denotes  that  the  Christian,  al- 
though he  is  in  the  world,  yet  like  a 
ship  at  sea,  he  is  above  the  world.  In 
her  hands  she  holds  the  opened  vol- 
ume of  God's  Holy  Word.  She  is 
looking  upward,  to  show  that  she  ex- 
pects light  from  above  to  shine  upon 
the  sacred  page.     With  one  arm  she 


embraces  the  cross,  signifying  that 
her  only  hope  of  salvation  is  founded 
on  the  death  of  Jesus  Christ. 

This  is  an  emblem  of  that  religion 
which  God  in  his  mercy  has  given  to 
mankind.  He  who  possesses  it,  I'csts 
his  all — his  soul  and  body,  his  time 
and  his  eternity — upon  the  atonement 
of  our  Lord  and  Savior  Jesus  Christ. 
While  some  are  trusting  to  the  mere 


64 


EELIGIOUS    EMBLEMS, 


mercy  of  God  out  of  Christ,  and 
others  to  their  self-righteousness, 
others  again  to  the  intercession  of 
men,  women,  and  angels,  his  lan- 
guage is,  'T  is  all  my  hope,  and  all 
my  plea,  for  me  the  Savior  died. 
God  forbid  that  I  should  glory,  save 
in  the  cross  of  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ. 
The  cross  of  Christ  is  the  mighty  lever 
that  is  to  roll  the  world  back  again  to 
God.  All  true  Christians  have  so  un- 
derstood it. 

Constantine  the  Great  took  advan- 
tage of  this  fact — the  common  faith 
of  the  early  Christians  in  the  power 
of  the  cross.  When  going  to  fight 
against  Maxentius,  he  related  to  his 
army  that  he  saw  (some  say  in  a 
vision)  a  cross  in  the  sky,  bearing 
this  inscription,  ev  zouzco  uixa,  "  £i/ 
this  conquer.''''  It  inspired  the  soldiers 
with  courage.  The  cross  was  seen 
inscribed  on  every  banner.  The  em- 
peror led  his  army  to  triumphant 
victory. 

The  Holy  Scriptures  are  very  pre- 
cious to  him  who  has  true  faith.  He 
regards  them  as  the  words  of  God — 
as  a  divine  proclamation  of  grace  to 
man;  as  a  record  of  parental  love, 
as  a  history  of  his  dear  Redeemer, 
and  of  his  own  redemption;  as  the 
title-deed  of  his  own  glorious  inherit- 
ance; as  the  only  rule  of  his  faith 
and  practice.  With  its  sacred  leaves 
open  before  him,  he  looks  upward 
and  prays,  "  0,  Lord,  open  thou  mine 
eyes,  that  I  may  behold  wondrous 
things  out  of  thy  law."  While  some 
neglect  and  despise  the  Holy  Book, 


and  others  depend  upon  human  creeds 
and  the  musty  traditions  of  "the 
Fathers,  he  exclaims,  "O,  how  I  love 
thy  law.  Thy  statutes  have  been  my 
songs  in  the  house  of  my  pilgrimage." 

By  his  faith  in  the  cross,  the  Bible, 
the  power  of  prayer,  and  the  influ- 
ences of  the  Holy  Spirit,  the  Chris- 
tian overcomes  the  world,  enjoys  com- 
munion with  God,  becomes  meet  to 
be  a  partaker  of  the  inheritance  of 
the  saints  in  light,  and  finally  joins  in 
the  song  of  Moses  and  of  the  Lamb 
forever. 

Then  embrace  Beligion,  "and  you 
shall  be  presently  installed  in  the  pos- 
session of  the  benefits  and  immuni- 
ties of  the  Redeemer's  purchase  with- 
out deduction,  and  without  qualifica- 
tion ;  you  shall  en^erge  from  under  the 
dark  shadows  of  the  fall,  into  the  ef- 
fulgence of  the  light,  and  the  pleni- 
tude of  the  jo3%  of  a  renovated,  heaven- 
born  nature;  and  the  silent  tide  of 
oblivion  shall  instantly  close  foiever 
over  all  your  past  sins,  and  you  shall 
be  immediately  admitted  into  the 
circle  of  the  redeemed  of  the  Lord. 

"  Your  brow  shall  be  encircled  with 
a  double  diadem  of  life  and  righteous- 
ness; a  patent  to  all  the  titles  and  il- 
lustrious dignities  of  the  nobility  of 
heaven  shall  be  made  out  for  you, 
which  nothing  in  time  or  eternity 
shall  alienate  or  rescind^  Paradise 
shall  unlock  for  you  its  everlasting 
gates,  and  you  shall  behold  the  inter- 
minable future  through  a  vista  of  the 
brightest  hopes,  and  inherit  a  name 
immortal  in  the  records  of  glory." 


RELIGIOUS    E  M  B  L  E  lU  S . 


H5 


PSALM 

cxlvi : 

verse  5. 


COLOSSI  A^\S, 
Chup.  1 : 
verse  5. 


PEOYEIIBS, 

Chap,  xiv: 

verse  32. 


EOMAXS, 

Chap,  v: 

verses  4,  5. 


ROMANS, 

Chap,  viii: 

verse  2-4. 


2  THESSAL'Na 
Chap,  ii: 
verse  16. 


TITUS, 

Chap,  ii: 
verse  1.3. 


ROMANS, 
Chap,  v: 
verse  2. 


HOPE. 

Which  hope  we  have  as  an  anchor  of  the  soul,  both  sure  and  stead- 
fast.    Heb,  vi :  19. For  we  are  saved  by  hope.     Horn,  viii :  24. 


Off  Truth's   substantial   rock,    Hope    takes    her 

seat, 
While  waves  tumultuous  dash  against  her  feet; 
The  sky  with  blackness  now  becomes  o'erspread; 
The  tempest  threatens  her  devoted  head  : 
Louder,  and  louder  still,  the  thunders  sound; 


The  lightning  flings  its  fearful  glare  around; 
Creation  trembles ;  but  fast  anchored  there, 
Hope  sits  unshaken,  never  in  despair; 
With  eyes  turned  upward,  whence  her- help  ile- 

scends, 
She  waits  expecting,  till  the  tempest  ends. 


Hope  is  represented  in  the  picture 
above  as  being  seated  upon  a  rock. 
Worldly  hope  has  always  some  sup- 
posed foundation,  on  which  it  relies. 
But  Christian  hope  has  for  a  founda- 
tion the  rock  of  truth,  God's  most 
holy  Word.  In  the  midst  of  gather- 
ing storms  she  is  depicted  looking  up- 
ward ;  this  expresses  her  confidence  in 
God.  She  leans  upon  an  anchor;  this 
denotes  steadfastness  and  trust.   Hope 


was  compared  to  an  anchor,  by  ancient 
writers.  Thus  Socrates  expresses  him- 
self: "  To  ground  hope  on  a  false  sup- 
position, is  like  trusting  to  a  weak  an- 
chor." 

The  hope  of  heaven  is  represented 
by  the  Apostle  Paul  as  the  anchor  of 
the  soul.  We  see  the  propriety  of  this 
figure  when  we  consider  that  the  world 
is"  like  a  tempestuous  sea,  full  of  dan- 
gers.   The  course  of  the  child  of  God,. 


6(3 


EELIGIOUS    EMBLE:,IS, 


the  voyage ;  heaven,  the  port,  or  har- 
bor, which  he  expects  and  desires  to 
gain.  Sometimes,  when  a  ship  rides 
at  anchor,  dreadful  storms  arise,  the 
wind  blows  with  fnry,  the  tempest 
howls,  and  waves  roar  and  beat  against 
the  vessel.  But  if  the  ship  be  what  is 
termed  seaworthy,  that  is,  firm,  strong- 
ly put  together ;  if,  at  the  same  time, 
the  cable  be  strong,  and  the  anchor 
bites,  or  strikes  its  fluke  deep  into  good- 
holding  ground,  all  will  be  well.  The 
fitorm  may  rage,  rocks  and  quicksands 
may  lie  to  leeward,  threatening  de- 
struction, yet  will  she  be  secure.  It 
is  true,  she  will  haA^e  to  send  down 
her  topmasts  and  3'ards,  and  keep  an- 
chor-watch, yet  will  she  ride  out  the 
gale. 

By  this  we  may  see  the  proper  use 
of  hope  to  the  Christian,  which  is  to 
keep  the  soul  calm  and  secure  in  the 
day  of  adversity.  Hope  does  not  re- 
move trouble;  it  sustains  the  soul  in 
the  time  of  trouble.  The  anchor  does 
not  dispel  the  storm ;  it  does  not  quiet 
the  roaring  waves,  arrest  the  rolling 
thunder,  nor  bid  the  winds  be  still ; 
but  it  enables  the  vessel  to  ride  out 
the  fury  of  the  gale  ;  it  keeps  her  from 
being  driven  on  the  rocks  of  death. 
The  most  pious  Christian  does  not  find 
himself  exempt  from  the  cares  and  ca- 
lamities of  this  life,  or  free  from  the 
conflicts  and  diflieulties  of  the  Chris- 
tian life.  lie  often  finds  himself 
"  tossed  .upon  life's  raging  billows," 
but  under  these  circumstances  the 
hope  of  heaven,  as  the  anchor  of  the 
soul,  keeps  him  steady.  "  "Which 
hope  we  have,"  says  the  apostle,  "  as 
an  anchor  to  the  soul,  both  sure  and 
steadfast."  This  hope  preserves  him 
from  being  dashed  to  pieces  against 
the  rocks  of  temptation,  destruction, 
and  despair;  it  at  the  same  time  im- 


parts a  delightful  sense  of  security  in 
the  day  of  trial,  a  blessed  sense  of 
peace  amid  a  sea  of  troubles.  It  in- 
spires fortitude  and  boldness  in  the 
cause  of  God.  "  Hope  maketh  not 
ashamed,  because  the  love  of  God  is 
shed  abroad  in  the  heart  by  the  Holy 
Ghost,  which  is  given  unto  us." 

Among  the  Arabians,  the  water- 
melon is  known  by  the  name  of 
"  batech,'"  which  in  the  Hebrew  lan- 
guage signifles  hojye.  The  melon,  by 
its  tendrils,  clings  to  whatever  it  can 
lay  hold  of.  Just  so  hope;  the  Chris- 
tian's hope  clings  to  God,  his  prom- 
ises, his  faithfulness,  his  love.  "  The 
water-melon  is  cultivated  on  the  banks 
of  the  river  Kile,"  says  a  traveler. 
"It  serves  the  Egyptians  for  meat, 
drink,  and  medicine.  It  is  eaten  in 
abundance  by  even  the  richer  sort  of 
people,  but  the  poor  scarcely  eat  any 
thing  but  these."  This  affords  a  good 
illustration.  What,  indeed,  would  life 
be  without  hope  ? 

"  Man  never  is,  but  always  to  be  blest." 

Take  away  hope,  and  you  take  away 
the  enjoyment  of  prosperity ;  deprive 
man  of  hope,  and  you  take  away  the 
only  support  and  solace  of  adversity. 
The  most  happy,  the  most  prosperous, 
without  hope  would  soon  become  the 
most  wretched.  The  poor  and  afHicted, 
without  it,  would  sink  at  once  into  the 
gulf  of  despair.  To  deprive  man  of 
hope,  is  to  rob  him  of  his  dearest  treas- 
ure Extinguish  hope,  and  you  extin- 
guish life,  for  who  could  live  without 
hope?  It  is  the  last  lingering  light 
of  the  human  breast.  "  It  shines 
when  every  other  is  put  out.  Quench 
it,  and  the  gloom  of  affliction  becomes 
the  very  blackness  of  darkness — cheer- 
less and  impenetrable." 


KELIGIOUS    EMBLEMS. 


67 


1  PETER, 

Chap,  iii : 
verse  8. 


Chap,  xiii ; 
verse  35. 


COLOSSIANS, 

Chap,  iii: 
verses  11,  12, 


MATTHEW, 

Chap,  xviii: 
verses  21,  22. 


THESSALO'NS, 

Chap,  v: 
verse  14. 


2  PETEK, 
Chap,  i: 
verse  7. 


2  CORINTH'NS, 

Chap,  xiii: 
verse  11. 


PHILLIPPI'NS, 

Chap,  iv : 
verse  8. 


BROTHERLY   KINDNESS. 

Bear  ye  one  another's  burdens,  and  so  fulfill  the  law  of  Christ. 
Gal.  vi:  2. 


Lo!  the  poor  pilgrim  bends  beneath  his  load, 
And  travels  wearily  his  length'ning  road; 
Contempts  vast  weight,  back'd  by  afflictions  sore, 
Incline  him  now  to  give  his  jonrney  o'er; 
With  groaning  sick,  with  labor  faint,  he  stops, 
And  on  the  pathway  tottering,  almost  drops: 


But  ere  he  prostrate  falls,  relief  is  near, 
Two  brethren  of  the  Cliristian  band  appear; 
Their  cheerful  aid  they  speedily  impart, 
To  ease  his  burden,  and  relieve  his  heart; 
His  willing  shoulder  each  one  runs  to  lend, 
And  on  he  travels  to  his  journey's  end. 


Look  at  the  poor  pilgrim.  Awhile 
ago  he  was  bending  beneath  his  bur- 
den, unaided,  unpitied,  and  alone. 
Almost  pressed  to  the  earth,  he  would 
fain  have  given  his  journey  over.  His 
heart  was  sick  within  him;  his  bones 
were  wearied;  lie  thought  he  would 
lay  him  down  and  die.  But  before 
he  sunk  under  the  pressure,  he  saw 
two  friends  coming  toward  him.  He 
endeavors   now  to  hold  out  a   little 


longer,  f^repcntly  they  arrive,  and 
give  him  a  friendly  salutation.  They 
do  not,  like  the  Levite,  pass  by  on  the 
other  side ;  at  once  they  hasten  to  his 
relief;  each  one  puts  his  shoulder  to 
the  burden.  Now  it  is  lighter;  the 
poor  man  draws  breath  ;  they  encour- 
age him  with  kind  words,  but  still 
more  with  their  efficient  help.  Nor 
do  they  leave  him  until  he  arrives  at 
the  end  of  his  journey. 


68 


EELIGIOUS    EMBLEMS, 


This  is  a  good  emblem  of  Brotherly 
Kindness.  The  burdened  pilgrim  rep- 
resents the  Christian  traveling  on  in 
the  way  of  duty,  bearing  affliction 
and  contempt.  Afflictions  such  as  are 
common  to  men  press  heavily  upon 
him ;  contempt  and  tribulation,  pecu- 
liar to  those  who  will  live  godly  in 
Christ  Jesus,  almost  overwhelm  him. 
His  soul  is  among  lions;  he  is  ready 
to  sink  beneath  his  burden.  His  head 
is  sick,  his  heart  is  faint.  He  says, 
"  I  shall  one  day  fall  by  my  enemies ; 
I  ma}"  as  well  give  up  first  as  last." 
Just  now  some  Christian  brethren — 
signified  by  the  pilgrim's  two  friends 
above — hearing  of  his  circumstances, 
call  upon  him,  find  out  his  trouble, 
and  immediately  propose  to  help  him. 
They  furnish  him  with  pecuniary  aid, 
assist  him  with  their  prayers  and  coun- 
sel, and  being  disciples  of  Jesus,  they 
resolve  to  bear  a  part  of  the  reproach 
of  Christ.  They  unite  with  their  af- 
flicted brother  in  stemming  the  tor- 
rent of  wickedness  that  runs  down 
the  streets,  and  in  advancing  the 
kingdom  of  God  on  the  earth.  All 
this  sympathy  and  aid  makes  a  new 
man  of  him;  he  again  lifts  up  his 
head,  and  goes  on  his  way  rejoicing. 

The  blessed  Redeemer  established 
his  cross  on  the  earth  as  the  rallying 


point  for  all  hearts,  that  being  soft- 
ened there  by  divine  love  they  might 
be  united  to  God,  and  that  being  di- 
vested there  of  all  selfishness  they 
might  be  united  to  each  other  in  the 
bonds  of  a  holy,  loving  brotherhood. 
"A  new  commandment,"  said  the 
Savior,  "give  I  unto  you,  that  ye 
love  one  another."  Hence  the  words 
of  the  apostle,  ^^  Bear  ye  one  another's 
burdens,  and  so  fulfill  the  law  of 
Christy 

Even  under  the  Jewish  dispensa- 
tion it  was  ordained  that  "  if  thou 
see  the  ass  of  him  that  hateth  thee 
lying  under  his  burden,  thou  shalt 
surely  help  him."  How  much  better 
is  a  man  than  a  beast!  and  compared 
with  the  Jews,  how  much  more  power- 
ful is  the  weight  of  the  Christian's 
obligation ! 

Blest  be  the  tie  that  binda 
Gur  hearts  in  Christian  love, 

The  fellowship  of  kindred  minds 
Is  like  to  that  above. 

We  share  our  mutual  woes; 

Our  mutual  burdens  bear; 
And  often  for  each  other  flows 

The  sympathizing  tear. 

Before  our  Father's  throne 
We  pour  our  ardent  prayers ; 

Our  fears,  our  hopes,  our  aims  are  one, 
Our  comforts  and  our  cares. 

Fawcett 


EELIGIOUS    EMBLEMS 


69 


PSALM 

Ixxxix : 

'verse  14. 


GALATIANS, 

Chap,  iii: 
verse  10. 


ACTS, 

Chap,  xvii: 

verse  31. 


jSCCLESIAST'S, 
Chap,  xii: 
verse  14. 


EOMANS, 

Chap,  iii: 
verse  20. 


GALATIANS, 

ChajD.  iii: 
verse  13. 


1  PETER, 
Chap,  ii: 
verse  24. 


1  CORINTH'NS, 

Chap.  XV : 
verse  3. 


■    DIVINE  LOVE   AND  JUSTICE. 

Without  shedding  of  blood  there  is  no  remission.    Horn,  ix :  22. 

We  have  redemption  through  his  blood,  even  the  forgiveness  of  sin. 
Col.i:  14. 


Behold  where  Justice,  with  her   sword   raised 

high, 
In  words  that  echo  through  the  trembling  sky, 
Demands,  in  virtue  of  the  Law's  just  right. 
That  man  should  perish  in  eternal  night. 
Pale,  trembling,  fearful,  see  the  culprit  stand. 
Nor  dares  to  hope  deliverance  at  hand. 
On  wibgs  of  grace,  and  heavenly  motion  fleet, 


Love  hastens,  prostrate  at  the  claimant's  feet. 
"Me!  me  behold!"  she  cries,  "on  me  be  pour'd 
The  wrathful  vial  that  for  him  is  stored. 
Here,  in   this   heart,    plunge   deep   th'   avenging 

blade. 
My  life  for  his!   so  Justice  shall  be  paid." 
'T  is  done  !   the  sword  is  bathed  in  spotless  blood, 
And  man,  released,  returns  to  life — and  God. 


In  this  picture,  Justice  is  seen 
standing  with  her  sword  raised  high, 
ready  to  fall  upon  the  guilty  one. 
In  her  left  hand  she  holds  the  scales 
of  equity;  at  her  side  the  two  tables 
of  law  appear,  at  the  foot  of  which 
lies  the  Iloly  Bible.     In  the  front  of 


Justice  one  is  seen  in  the  attitude  of 
a  culprit ;  he  hangs  his  head  down  in 
acknowledgment  of  his  guilt.  Be- 
tween the  oft'ender  and  Justice,  be- 
hold one  of  celestial  mien,  in  a  kneel- 
ing posture,  with  wings  outspread; 
her  countenance  beams  with  compas- 


70 


EELIGIOUS    EMBLEMS. 


sion ;  addressing  Justice,  she  points 
to  her  uncovered  bosom,  and  asks 
that  the  sword  may  be  plunged  there- 
in, and  that  the  guilty  one  may  go 
free.     This  is  Divine  Love. 

This  is  an  emblem  of  human  re- 
demption. A  book  of  laws  is  given 
to  man,  which  is  holy,  just,  and  good, 
the  substance  of  which  is  contained 
in  the  decalogue  or  ten  command- 
ments. These  laws,  whether  engraved 
on  tables  of  stone,  or  written  on  rolls 
of  parchment,  or  printed  in  books,  or 
impressed  on  the  human  heart,  have 
been  violated  by  all  mankind,  for  "all 
have  sinned,"  and  consequently  have 
come  short  of  the  divine  approbation. 
The  penalty  is  "death."  "The  soul 
that  sinneth,  it  shall  die."  Thus  the 
matter  stands  when  the  sinner  is 
brought  before  the  tribunal  of  Jus- 
tice. 

Justice  never  forgives,  nor  makes 
any  allowance  for  circumstances  or 
human  infirmity.  The  plea  put  in 
by  Lord  Nelson  when  dying,  that 
"  he  had  not  been  a  very  great  sin- 
ner," will  be  utterly  unavailing.  The 
reply  of  Justice  is,  "  He  that  offends 
in  one  point,  is  guilty  of  all." 

But  ere  the  sword  of  Justice  is 
bathed  in  the  blood  of  the  guilty,  Di- 
vine Love,  in  the  person  of  Jesus 
Christ,  interposed,  "  and  poured  out 
his  soul  unto  death,  and  made  inter- 
cession for  the  transgressors."  On 
the  hill  of  Calvary,  this  wonderful 
scene  took  place.  There  Divine  Love 
received  the  sword  of  Justice;  there 


the  heart  of  the  Son  of  God  bled  for 
guilty  man ;  there  he  "  who  knew  no 
sin  became  a  sin-offering  for  us." 
Mercy  and  Truth  now  meet  together, 
Justice  and  Peace  kiss  each  other. 

"  Greater  love  than  this  hath  no 
man,  that  a  man  lay  down  his  life  for 
his  friends ;  but  God  commendeth  his 
love  toward  us,  in  that  while  we 
were  yet  sinners  Christ  died  for  us." 
Shout,  heaven  and  earth,  this  sum  of 
God  to  man,  that  God  can  now  be 
just,  and  the  justifier  of  him  who 
believes  in  Jesus. 

"  Infinite  grace!  Almighty  charms! 
Stand  in  amaze,  ye  rolling  skies! 
Jesus  the  God  extends  his  arms, 
Hangs  on  a  cross  of  love,  and  dies ! 

"  Did  pity  ever  stoop  so  low, 

Dress'd  in  divinity  and  blood? 
Was  ever  rebel  courted  so, 

In  groans  of  an  expiring  God? 

"  Again  he  lives,  and  spreads  his  hands — 
Hands   that    were    nail'd   with    torturing 
smart, 
By  these  dear  wounds!  Jie  looks  and  stands, 
And  pi-ays  to  clasp  me  to  his  heart." 


Five  bleeding  wounds  he  bears, 

Received  on  Calvary; 
They  pour  effectual  prayers, 

They  strongly  speak  for  me: 
Forgive  him,  U,  forgive,  they  cry, 
Kor  let  that  ransom'd  sinner  die. 

He  ever  lives  above. 

For  me  to  intercede; 
His  all-redeeming  love, 

His  precious  blood  to  plead 
His  blood  atoned  for  all  our  race. 
And  sprinkles  now  the  throne  of  grace. 


RELIGIOUS    EMBLEMS. 


EFHESIANS, 

Chap,  ii: 
verse  16. 


COLOSSIANS, 
Chap,  i : 
verse  20. 


1  corinth':n^s,  ^m 

Chap,  x: 
verse  16. 


.HEBEEWS, 
Chap,  ix: 
verse  12. 


JOHN, 

Chap,  xvii: 

verse  21. 


ROMANS, 
Chap,  v: 
verse  10. 


HEBEEAVS, 
Chap,  ii: 
verse  11. 


HEBREWS, 
Chap,  ii: 
verse  17. 


RECONCILIATION. 

And  all  things  are  of  God,  who  hath  reconciled  us  to  himself  by 

Jesus  Christ God  was  in  Christ,  reconciling  the  world  unto 

himself  .  ...  Be  ye  reconciled  to  God.     2  Cor.  v:  18,  19,  20. 


Between  the  bleeding  victim,  cut  in  twain, 
Two,  ouce  at  variance,  meet,  at  one  again; 
Gladly  the  hand  of  fellowship  impart, 
And  pledge  the  honor  of  a  faithful  heart. 
And  by  the  God  of  life  and  death  agree 


The  past  to  bury  in  oblivion's  sea; 

They  vow  each  other's  interest  to  befriend, 

And  when  in  need,  to  succor  and  defend. 

And  as  the  parted  victim  lies  in  death, 

So  they  adjudge  who  breaks  his  solemn  oath. 


This  engraving  represents  two  men 
standing  between  the  two  parts  of  a 
divided  calf.  They  have  been  for  a 
long  time  enemies  to  each  other. 
Now  they  earnestly  desire  to  become 
friends  again;  they  wish  to  bury  all 
past  difi'erences  in  the  ocean  of  for- 
getfulness,  and  to  enter  into  an  agree- 
ment mutually  to  assist  and  defend 
each  other  in  time  to  come.  To  ac- 
complish this  object,  they  have  met 


together.  As  a  proof  of  their  sincer- 
ity, they  ofier  a  sacrifice  to  the  object 
of  their  religious  adoration.  The 
blood  of  the  victim  is  poured  out, 
the  animal  is  divided  into  two  equal 
parts.  The  parts  are  placed  opposite 
to  each  other,  space  enough  being  left 
for  the  parties  to  enter  between.  When 
this  is  done,  they  meet  in  the  middle 
of  the  divided  beast,  where  the  con- 
tract is  read  or  repeated,  and  by  a  sol- 


72 


II ELIGIOUS    EMBLEMS, 


emn  oath  sanctioned  and  confirmed. 
This  was  an  ancient  and  almost  uni- 
versal mode  of  making  contracts.  It 
is  referred  to  by  Jeremiah  the  prophet : 
"  And  I  will  deliver  up  the  men  that 
have  transgressed  ray  covenant,  which 
have  not  performed  the  words  of  the 
covenant  which  they  had  made  be- 
fore me,  when  they  cut  the  calf  in 
twain,  and  passed  through  the  parts 
thereof." 

The  above  is  a  significant  emblem 
of  that  reconciliation  which  is  pro- 
claimed by  the  everlasting  Gospel. 
The  holy  God  and  sinful  man  consti- 
tute the  parties.  Man  had,  by  his 
sins,  separated  himself  from  God,  and 
had,  in  fact,  become  an  "  enemy." 
God,  the  oftended  party,  proclaims  a 
truce,  and  proposes  a  reconciliation. 
The  place  of  meeting  was  Mount  Cal- 
vary. There  Mercy  and  Truth  met 
together.  Justice  and  Peace  embraced 
each  other ;  the  victim,  the  Lord  Jesus 
(Jhrist.  Without  shedding  of  blood 
there  is  no  forgiveness,  and  without 
forgiveness  there  is  no  reconciliation; 
but  "  God  w^as  in  Christ,  reconciling 
the  world  to  himself,"  and  "  Christ  is 
our  peace,  who  hath  made  both  one." 
The  terms  of  the  covenant  are:  "He 
that  believeth  shall  be  saved,  and  he 
that  believeth  not  shall  be  damned." 

On  this  ground,  i.  e.,  ^^  in  Christ," 
God  has  sworn  to  receive  to  friend- 
ship all  who  come  to  him.  Here  he 
opens  his  heart  of  love;  here  he  be- 


stows more  than  kingly  dignities; 
here  the  kingdom  of  grace  is  exhib- 
ited, and  the  splendors  of  the  king- 
dom of  glory  shadowed  forth.  But 
for  these  "  wdio  count  the  blood  of  the 
covenant  au  unholy  thing,  there  re- 
maineth  no  more  sacrifice  for  sin,  but 
a  certain  fearful  looking  for  of  fiery 
indisrnation,  which  shall  devour  the 
adversaries." 

The  reconciliation  of  a  soul  to  God 
is  perhaps  the  greatest  event  that  can 
come  to  pass  on  the  earth.  It  affects 
three  worlds:  heaven,  earth,  and  hell. 
When  this  takes  place,  angels,  in  their 
flights  of  mercy,  passing  over  fields 
of  renown,  where  empires  are  won 
and  lost,  stoop  upon  the  wing,  and 
stringing  their  harps  to  a  loftier  mel- 
o(ly,  they  sing  the  anthem  of  all-re- 
deeming love,  "  Glory  to  God  in  the 
highest,  on  earth  peace,  and  good- 
will toward  man." 


God,  the  offended  God  Most  High, 
Embassadors  to  rebels  sends; 

His  messengers  liis  place  supply, 
And  Jesus  begs  us  to  be  triends. 

Us  in  the  stead  of  Christ,  they  pray, 
Us  in  the  stead  of  God  entreat, 

To  cast  our  arms,  our  sins  away. 
And  tind  forgiveness  at  his  feet. 

Our  God  in  Christ!   thine  embassy, 
And  proffer'd  mercy  we  embrace, 

And  gladly  reconciled  to  thee. 
Thy  condescending  mercy  praise. 

Wesley. 


RELIGIOUS    EMBLEMS. 


73 


1  JOHN, 

Chap,  iii: 
verses  1,  2. 


EPHESIANS, 
Chap,  ii: 
verse  13. 


KEVELATIOK, 
Chap,  i : 
verse  6. 


'.  MARK, 

Chap,  iii 
verse  35. 


MATTHEW, 

Chap.  XXV : 
verse  40. 


REVELATION, 

Chap,  iii: 
verse  21. 


JOHN, 

Chap,  xiv; 
verse  19. 


1  CORINTH'NS, 

Chaj).  iii: 
verse  23. 


ADOPTION. 

That  we  migld  receive  the  adoption  of  sons  . 
an  heir  of  God.     Gal.  iv :  5,  7. 


.  .  and  if  a  son,  then 


See  here  the  king,  in  regal  splendor  clad, 

Comes  forth  to  meet  the  ragged,  friendless  lad ; 

Attended  by  his  sons,  a  princely  race, 

He  comes  to  manifest  his  royal  grace: 

In  one  hand,  see!  he  bears  a  crown  of  light. 

And  witli  the  other  takes  the  hapless  wight, 

And  up  the  steps  he  leads  him,  pale  with  dread, 


And  sets  the  diadem  upon  his  head. 
His  rags  removed,  with  regal  robes  he's  dress'd, 
And  o'er  his  shoulders  thrown  the  purple  vest. 
The  royal  youths  look  on  with  mute  surprise, 
While  pleasure  dances  in  their  generous  eyes; 
The  imperial  gates  on  golden  hinges  swing, 
And  crowds  advance,  and  hail  the  uew-made  king. 


A  monarch  is  here  seen  standing 
arrayed  in  his  robes  of  state,  and 
crown  of  glitterini^  gems.  He  baa 
left  his  guests  within  the  palace ;  he 
has  come  forth  ;  he  holds  in  his  hand 
a  crown  of  purest  gold.  On  the  steps 
he  meets  a  poor,  ragged  boy;  he  in- 
tends to  make  him  an  object  of  hia 
especial  favor.  He  takes  him  kindly 
by  the  hand,  and  leads  him  up  the 


steps.  The  poor  boy  trembles;  he  is 
greatly  afraid.  The  king  places  the 
crown  upon  his  brow;  he  commands 
that  royal  robes  be  brought  forthwith, 
■to  clothe  him  withal.  Moreover,  he 
orders  that  proclamation  be  made,  an- 
nouncing that  he  is  received  among 
the  princes  of  the  realm. 

Some  of  the  kinsT's  sons  are  seen 
standing  behind.     They  look  on  with 


74 


EELIGIOUS    EMBLEMS. 


wonder,  but  not  with  jealousy.  They 
appear  delighted  at  what  they  see; 
they  embrace  him  as  a  brother.  The 
news  reaches  the  inside  of  the  palace; 
the  inmates  hasten  out  to  congratu- 
late the  new-made  king.  He  returns 
'with  them  and  takes  his  seat  at  the 
banquet,  amid  strains  of  music  and 
the  voice  of  song. 

This  is  an  emblem  of  Adoption. 
The  king  represents  the  Almighty 
Father,  King  of  heaven  and  earth.. 
The  king's  sons  signify  the  angels, 
who  have  never  sinned.  The  boy  in 
rags  represents  the  sinner,  man.  The 
sinner,  "wretched,  and  miserable,  and 
poor,  and  blind,  and  naked,"  is  driven 
by  the  storms  of  guilt  and  anguish 
that  beat  upon  him,  to  seek  a  place 
of  refuge.  "Whither  shall  I  flee?" 
he  asks,  in  the  agony  of  his  soul. 
lie  resolves,  "  I  will  arise  and  go  to 
my  Father."  Thus,  in  all  his  misery, 
he  presents  himself  before  the  King, 
Jehovah. 

Whereas  the  kino;  is  seen  coming 
forth  from  his  palace,  and  taking  the 
poor  boy  by  the  hand ;  this  is  to  show 
how  willingly  God  receives  the  poor 
penitent  who  comes  to  him  in  the 
name  of  the  Mediator.  When  he  was 
yet  a  great  way  off,  he  saw  him,  and 
had  compassion  on  him.  He  takes 
him  by  the  hand,  saying,  "  Him  that 


cometh  unto  me,  I  will  in  no  wise 
cast  out."  He  places  a  crown  on  his 
head,  that  is,  he  adopts  him  as  his 
own  son;  he  makes  him  an  heir  of 
his  eternal  glory. 

Kow  he  has  a  childlike  confidence 
in  God  as  his  Father,  God  having 
sent  forth  the  Spirit  of  his  Son  into 
his  heart,  crying,  Abba,  Father.  He 
takes  his  place  among  the  children 
of  God,  lost  in  wonder,  love,  and 
praise.  "  Behold  what  manner  of 
love  the  Father  hath  bestowed  on  us, 
that  we  should  be  called  the  sons  of 
God." 

The  angels,  those  elder  sons  of  the 
Almighty,  gladly  welcome  the  adopted 
to  their  number;  they  receive  him  as 
one  that  was  lost,  and  is  found,  that 
was  dead,  and  is  alive  again,  and 
henceforth  minister  to  him  as  an  heii* 
of  salvation. 

Not  all  the  nobles  of  the  earth, 
Who  boast  the  honors  of  their  birth, 
Such  real  dignity  can  claim, 
As  those  that  bear  the  Christian  name. 

To  them  the  privilege  is  given 
To  be  the  sons  and  lieirs  of  heaven ; 
Sons  of  the  God  who  reigns  on  high, 
And  heirs  of  joy  beyond  the  sky. 

On  them,  a  happy,  chosen  race, 
Their  Father  pours  his  richest  grace; 
To  them  liis  counsels  he  imparts, 
And  stamps  his  image  on  their  hearts. 
Dr.  S.  Slennett. 


EELIGIOUS    EMBLEMS. 


75 


LUKE, 

Chap,  xviii: 
verses  11,  12. 


MATTHEW, 

Chap,  vi: 
verse  2. 


MATTHEW, 
Chap,  vi: 
verse  16. 


^g[See  Jne 


I  pray  1  lua  i"" 
Ifast 

1  dorj« 

l^ink. 
T  am 


i  TIMOTHY,         ^ 
Chap,  iii: 
verse  6. 


OBADIAH, 

Chap,  i: 
verse  3. 


EEVELATION", 

Chap,  iii: 
verse  17. 


DAI^IEL, 

Chap,  iv: 
verse  30. 


1  COEmTH'NS, 

Chap,  viii: 

verse  1. 


SPIRITUAL    PRIDE. 

For  they  loved  the  ])raise  of  men,  ynore  than  the  praise  of  God. 
John,  xii:  43. 


See  -where  the  Pharisee  inflated  stands, 
And  sounds  his  praise  abroad  to  distant  lands; 
Himself  his  trumpeter,  he  blows,  not  faint, 
That  all  may  hear,  and  own  him  for  a  saint; 
His  lengthen'd  notes  in  sonorous  accents  say, 
"  I  do--I  think — I  give — I  fast — I  pray!" 
No  bankrupt  he,  for  lo!  to  feed  his  pride, 
See  bale  on  bale,  close  pack'd,  stand  by  his  side. 


The  beggar  comes,  worn  down  with  grief,  and  old: 
He 's  soon  discharged,  for  Pride  has  little  gold. 
He  doles  his  pittance  into  misery's  hat. 
And  loud  applause  he  asks,  in  full  for  that. 
The  gaudy  peacock  strutting  in  the  rear, 
Is  but  a  figure  of  this  trumpeter; 
It  struts,  and  swells,  and  spreads  its  plumes  abroad: 
So  he,  absorb' d  in  self,  forgets  his  God. 


This  engraving  represents  a  man 
who  appears  to  be  on  very  respectable 
terms  with  himself.  He  is  sounding 
a  trumpet  before  him;  he  is  very 
anxious  that  everybody  should  know 
when  he  performs  what  he  conceives 
to  be  a  good  action.  A  poor  man  is 
asking  charity ;  he  never  refuses  a 
trifle,  provided  he  has  his  trumpet 
with    him.     Up  it  goes,  and  with  a 


long  blast,  he  calls  the  distant  pas- 
sengers to  behold  him.  At  the  side 
of  the  trumpeter  are  seen  several 
bales  of  goods;  these  are  his  stock  iu 
trade.  i3ehind,  is  seen  the  peacock, 
strutting,  swelling,  and  displaying 
his  brilliant  train.  A  proper  emblem 
of  this  proud  trumpeter. 

The    above   cut    is   an  emblem  of 
Spiritual  Pride.     The  trumpeter,  giv- 


76 


EELIGIOUS    EMBLEMS. 


ing  a  little  small  change  to  tlie  beg- 
gar, and  apprising  every  body  of  the 
fact,  denotes  one  who  loves  to  make 
a  parade  of  his  religious  performances. 
Does  he  give  to  benevolent  objects? 
It  is  that  he  may  receive  the  praise 
of  men.  Does  he  fast,  or  pray,  or 
worship?  It  is  that  he  "may  be 
seen  of  men."  On  the  house-top, 
through  the  newspapers,  and  other 
sources  of  circulation,  he  proclaims 
his  good  deeds.  He  conjugates  all 
his  verbs  in  the  first  j)erson  only:  "I 
visited,"  "  I  preached,"  "  I  prayed," 
"  I  gave,"  etc.  Thus  the  praise  of 
worms  becomes  necessary  to  his  ex- 
istence; on  this  food  he  grows  fat. 
Deprive  him  of  it,  and  he  will  pine 
away,  and  die  of  atrophy.  He  sacri- 
fices to  his  own  net;  he  burns  incense 
to  his  own  drag.  Self  is  the  god  he 
iadores.  The  "bales  of  goods"  de- 
note that  he  is  well-stocked  with  self- 
righteousness.  In  his  own  opinion, 
he  is  "rich  and  increased  in  goods, 
and  has  need  of  nothing."  The  pea- 
cock, after  all,  has  just  as  much  re- 
ligion as  he  has. 

The  hypocritical  Pharisees  of  the 
Savior's  time  were  men  of  this  stamp. 
They  sounded  a  trumpet  before  them 
tinder  pretense  of  calling  the  poor  to- 
gether; but  in  reality  it  was  to  say, 
"  Look  at  me."  They  had  "their  re- 
ward." In  the  East  the  practice  varies. 
It  is  said  that  the  dervishes,  a  kind  of 
religious  beggars,  carry  with  them  a 
horn,  which,  when  receiving  alms,  they 
blow  in  honor  of  the  giver. 

All  pridd"  is  pretty  much  alike  in  its 
nature  and  eftects.  It  is  produced  in 
some   persons    by   noble    birth,    and 


great  natural  abilities.  In  others,  by 
wealth  and  learning.  In  others  again, 
by  certain  ecclesiastical  endowments, 
such  as  an  office  in  the  church,  the 
gift  of  praying,  or  of  preaching,  etc. 
These  things  are  all  alike  good  in 
themselves,  but  the  hearts  of  the  pos- 
sessors, being  un sanctified,  the  gifts 
are  abused,  and  the  Giver  neglected. 

He  who  possesses  true  religion  will 
be  truly  humble.  Humility  is  the  only 
proper  antidote  for  pride.  "When  hu- 
mility enters,  pride  departs,  as  flies  the 
darkness  from  the  sun.  To  slay  pride, 
and  teach  man  humility  by  example, 
the  blessed  Savior  took  upon  him  the 
form  of  a  servant.  He  made  himself 
of  no  reputation ;  he  humbled  himself 
unto  death,  yea,  even  unto  the  death 
of  the  cross.  O,  wonderful  humility  ! 
O,  boundless  grace ! 

Pride  renders  its  possessor  truly 
miserable  in  this  life.  The  Father 
of  spirits  alone  can  fill  an  immortal 
spirit.  The  man  of  pride  rejects  the 
blessed  God,  and  depends  for  happi- 
ness on  the  applause  of  man.  This 
is  uncertain,  unsatisfying,  and  transi- 
tory. Witness  the  case  of  Haman, 
who,  notwithstanding  "  the  glory  of 
his  riches,"  "  the  multitude  of  his 
children,"  and  his  princely  prefer- 
ments, was  ^ruly  wretched.  "All 
this  availed  him  nothing,"  so  long  as 
his  voracious  pride  went  without  its 
accustomed  fee — so  long  as  one  man 
refused  to  bring  his  tribute  of  hom- 
age. But  pride  will  render  its  posses- 
sor miserable  to  all  eternity.  "How 
can  ye  be  saved  who  seek  honor  one 
of  another,  and  not  the  honor  that 
cometh  from  God  only?" 


EELIGIOTJS    EMBLEMS, 


77 


MATTHEW, 

Cliap.  xxii: 
verso  18. 


JOB, 

Chap,  viii: 

verses  13,  14. 


LUKE, 

Chap,  xi: 
verse  39. 


MATTHEW, 

Chap,  xxiii: 

verse  27. 


'    LUKE, 

Chap.  XX : 
verses  46,  47. 


ISAIAH, 
Chap.  Iviii: 
verses  2,  3. 


MATTHEW, 

Chap,  xxiii: 

verse  5. 


JOB, 

Chap,  xxvii; 

verse  8. 


HYPOCRISY. 

Beware  of  false  prophets,  which  come  to  you  in  sheep's  clothing ;  but 
inwardly  they  are  ravening  wolves.     Matt,  vii :  15. 


See  in  the  distance,  there,  those  harmless  sheep; 
Nor  watch  or  ward  at  any  time  they  keep; 
Well  pleased,  along  the  pastures  green  they  tread. 
And  unsuspecting  crop  the  flowery  mead : 
The  shepherd  slumbers  in  the  noontide's  shade, 
His  flock  forsaken,  and  his  trust  betrayed. 
The  wolf  draws   near,    in   sheepskin   shrewdly 

dressed, 
He  bleats  aloud,  and  mixes  with  the  rest; 


They  prick  their  ears,  and  look  with  some  sur- 
prise, 
But  can  't  detect  him  in  his  deep  disguise. 
He  marks  his  time;    when  they  are  all  asleep. 
He  slays  the  lambs,  and  tears  the  silly  sheep. 
Thus  all  false  teachers  are  on  ruin^bcnt, 
And  by  Apollyon  on  their  mission  sent; 
Without,  the  clothing  of  Christ's  flock  they  wear, 
Within,  the  heart  of  ravening  wolves  they  bear. 


The  engraving  sho"v\"s  a  ■wolf  in 
disguise,  and  a  flock  of  sheep  in  the 
background.  The  shepherd  is  absent 
from  his  charge;  the  sheep  ■wander 
on,  without  any  to  control  their  move- 
■ments.  The  green  pastures  and  ver- 
dant meadows  afford  them  plenty  of 
employment.  Innocent  themselves, 
they  suspect  no  danger.    But  the  wolf 


comes;  he  comes,  too,  in  deep  dis- 
guise, not  in  his  true  character;  not 
as  a  ■wolf,  but  as  a  sheep.  The  flocks 
are  deceived;  he  mingles  -unth  them; 
he  marks  his  time.  First  one  strag- 
gler, and  now  another,  fall  victims  to 
his  tooth  of  blood.  At  length,  in  an 
unguarded  moment,  he  kills  all  the 
lambs,  and  tears  and  worries  the  en- 


78 


EELIGIOUS    EMBLEMS 


tire  flock.  But  think  not  that  the 
ravening  wolf  escapes  without  pun- 
ishment. No;  the  owner  of  the  flock 
sees  what  has  been  done;  he  discov- 
ers the  enemy,  and  kills  him.  He 
leaves  his  carcass  on  the  ground,  a 
warning  to  all  wolves  in  sheep's  cloth- 
ing. 

In  comparing  small  things  with 
great,  the  Savior  compared  the  fjilse 
prophets,  or  teachers,  to  a  wolf  in 
sheep's  clothing.  "  Beware,"  said  he, 
"  of  false  prophets,  who  come  to  you 
in  sheep's  clothing;  but  inwardly  they 
are  ravening  wolves."  Hypocrisy  con- 
sists in  acting  a  part  or  character  not 
our  own.  There  are  hypocrites  in  all 
professions,  and  a  great  deal  of  hypoc- 
risy in  the  world.  Men  of  low  de- 
gree are  vanity,  and  men  of  high  de- 
gree are  a  lie.  Both  of  them  together, 
laid  in  the  balance  of  sincerity,  would 
be  found  wanting. 

Of  all  hypocrites,  the  false  teacher 
of  religion  is  the  most  dangerous. 
He  it  is  that  scatters  firebrands,  ar- 
rows, and  death.  True  Christians 
are  honest  themselves  in  their  pro- 
fession of  piety,  and  unsuspecting  of 
others;  they  do  not  mistrust.  This 
exposes  them  to  the  schemes  of  hyp- 
ocrites. Sometimes,  also,  the  true 
teacher  is  absent  from  his  charge. 
Of  this  circumstance  the  false  teacher 
will  avail  himself.  Satan  is  never 
asleep  or  absent.  It  is  his  business 
to  sow  tares;  he  selects  his  time, 
"when  men  sleep;"  he  selects  his 
agents,  his  own  children;  he  assists 
them  in  disguising  themselves,  and 
sends  them  forth  to  their  hellish  work. 

Armed  with  the  whole  armor  of 
Satan,  the  false  teacher  a])proaches 
the  children  of  God.  He  begins  by 
cant;  he  talks  gospel  truth  sometimes ; 


he  insinuates,  wheedles,  and  flatters, 
until  he  has  gained  confidence;  then 
he  addresses  himself  to  his  task  in 
good  earnest.  Young  converts  are 
beguiled  from  the  simplicity  of  the 
Gospel ;  the  weak  in  the  faith  are  per- 
plexed and  turned  out  of  the  way; 
the  rest  have  their  confidence  weak- 
ened, their  peace  destroyed,  and  their 
souls  put  in  danger.  Ilis  object  is  to 
scatter,  tear,  and  kill,  and  secure  the 
fleece  for  a  prey.  Some  are  satisfied 
with  the  fleece,  and  sufi'cr  the  sheep 
to  live;  but  this  son  of  Satan  comes 
also  to  tear  and  destroy.  Wolves  are 
now  abroad  in  sheep's  clothing.  Let 
the  flock  of  Christ  beware.  Let  the 
false  teachers  also  beware,  because 
the  Chief  Shepherd  will  appear,  and 
cut  them  in  sunder,  and  appoint  them 
their  portion  with  the  hyjjocrites. 

"By  their  fruits  ye  shall  know 
them."  Fruits  are  the  conduct  of  a 
man;  his  actions  are  the  language  of 
his  heart.  If  the  flock  would  wait 
awhile  before  they  sutt'er  themselves 
to  act,  they  would  know  that  "  an 
evil  tree  can  not  bring  forth  good 
fruit." 

Let  the  following  marks  be  attended 
to  in  passing  judgment: 

1.  The  false  teacher  goes  to  the 
fold  of  true  Christians,  and  labors 
not  to  convert  sinners  from  their  evil 
ways. 

2.  The  false  teacher  persuades 
Christians  to  leave  the  fold,  instead 
of  helping  them  to  grow  in  grace, 
and  in  knowledge,  and  rejoicing  in 
their  prosperity,  as  did  Barnabas. 

3.  The  false  teacher  speaks  evil 
against  the  true  teachers  of  the 
Gospel,  instead  of  regarding  them 
as  co-workers  with  the  Lord. 


EELIGiaUS    EMBLEMS. 


79 


PSALM 

xxxi: 
verse  13. 


JEREMIAH, 

Chap,  ix: 
verse  3. 


PSALM 

1: 
verse  20. 


'  PSALM 

Ixiv: 
verses  3,  4. 


PROYERBS, 

Chap.  XXV : 

verse  23. 


PROVERBS, 

Chap,  xxvi: 

verse  22. 


JEREMIAH, 

Chap,  xviii: 
verse  18. 


JAMES, 

Chap,  iii: 

verse  8. 


SLANDER   AND    BACKBITING-. 

For  the  loicked  bend  their  bov),  they  make  ready  their  arrow  upon 
the  string,  that  they  may  privily  shoot  at  the  iqmr/ht  in  heart.  Fs. 
2. their  tongue  a  sharp  sword.     Fs.  Ivii:  4. 


XI 


Mark!   where  the  good  man  unsuspecting  treads, 
No  evil  meditates,  nor  evil  dreads; 
The  base  assassins  from  their  covert  start, 
And  sheath  the  dagger  in  his  bleeding  heart; 
Or  shoot  their  arrows,  strung  by  hate,  unslack, 
With  deadly  aim  at  the  defenseless  back. 


So  smites  the  slanderer,  with  poisoned  tongue, 
The  man — his  neighbor — who  has  done  no  wrong; 
Thief-like,  he  steals  what  gold  can  not  replace, 
And,  like  a  coward,  dares  not  show  his  face: 
A  brutish  cur,  that  sneaks  along  the  track, 
Awaits  his  time,  then  springs  upon  the  back. 


Behold  the  good  man!  He  walks 
leisurel}'^  along  toward  his  homo;  very 
likely  he  has  been  visiting  the  honse 
of  mourning;  drying  the  poor  widow's 
tears,  or  feeding  and  clothing  the  for- 
saken orphan.  He  is  probably  anti- 
cipating much  pleasure  from  the  re- 
cital of  what  he  has  seen  and  heard 
to  his  beloved  famil3\  He  may  be  re- 
volving in  his  mind  schemes  of  future 


benevolence,  or  meditating  on  the 
goodness  of  his  heavenly  Father; 
perhaps  contemplating  the  vast  con- 
cerns of  the  eternal  state.  He  sees 
no  foe,  he  hears  no  hostile  step;  he 
feels  himself  suddenly  wounded,  his 
head  swims,  he  reels,  and  falls  to  the 
ground. 

The  base  poltroons  had  carefully 
watched  their   time,  and,  with    the 


80 


EELIGIOUS    EMBLEMS, 


sharp  dagger  and  empoisoned  arrow, 
had  cruelly  murdered  the  innocent. 
The  deed  is  done  in  secret;  yet  all 
the  heavenly  world  beheld  it;  and 
under  cover  of  darkness  they  escape, 
but  not  forever.  The  earth  refuses 
to  cover  the  blood  of  the  murdered. 

This  emblem  sets  forth  the  sin  of 
slander  or  backbiting,  which  is,  of  all 
things  whatsoever,  the  most  abomi- 
nable, and  to  be  detested.  The  slan- 
derer contains  within  himself  almost 
all  the  vices  of  other  transgressors. 
He  is  for  the  most  part  a  liar  of  the 
very  worst  class.  Whether  he  forges 
the  calumny  himself,  or  retails  that 
of  others,  it  matters  not;  he  is  still  a 
liar  in  the  sight  of  God  and  man. 
iN'ot  oniy  so,  the  slanderer  is  also  a 
thief — a  robber  of  the  first  magnitude, 
for 


■  He  who  steals  my  purse,  steals  trash ; 
****** 


But  he  Avho  filches  from  me  my  good  name, 
Robs  me  of  that  which  not  enriches  him, 
And  makes  me  poor  indeed." 

Look  again  at  the  brow  of  the 
slanderer,  and  you  will  see  another 
title  of  infamy — that  of  coward.  He 
dares  not  say  to  the  face  what  he  so 
freely  utters  behind  the  back.  Thus 
he  bites  the  hack.  He  resembles  a 
snappish  dog,  often  seen  in  the  streets, 
running  after  passengers,  and  biting 
their  heels.  Furthermore,  the  slan- 
derer is,  in  the  sight  of  God,  a  mur- 
derer. He  must  necessarily  hate  the 
person  slandered ;  but  "he  who  hateth 
his  brother  is  a  murderer."  Injury 
is  added  to  hatred,  which  renders  the 
case  worse.  Reputation  is  more  pre- 
cious than  life.     Thus  the   man   or 


woman  who  makes  or  vends  a  slan- 
der, must  be  known  and  read  of  all 
men  as  a  liar,  coivard,  thief,  and  mur- 
derer. 

The  slanderer's  tongue  is  a  four- 
edged  sword.  It  wounds  the  hand 
of  him  who  uses  it;  it  wounds  the 
ears  of  those  who  listen  to  it;  it 
wounds  the  heart  of  him  who  is  the 
object  of  the  thrust;  it  strikes  at  the 
throne  of  God,  and  breaks  his  law. 
Slander  excludes  the  miserable  per- 
petrator from  the  kine:dom  of  heaven. 
"  Who  shall  dwell  in  thy  holy  hill,  0, 
Lord?"  ^^He  that  backbit eth  not  with 
his  tongue."  Death  and  life  are  in 
the  power  of  the  tongue.  A  whole- 
some tongue  is  a  tree  of  life;  a  pol- 
luted tongue  is  a.  upas  of  death.  It 
may  be  warmed  with  a  seraph's  iiame, 
or  set  on  fire  of  hell;  a  world  of  in- 
iquity, or  a  universe  of  good;  an  un- 
ruly evil  full  of  deadly  poison,  or  a 
well-ordered  system,  transmitting  the 
blessings  of  an  endless  life.  There- 
with bless  we  God  even  the  Father, 
and  therewith  curse  we  men  made 
after  the  image  of  God. 

The  Jewisii  Rabbis  tell  the  follow- 
ing story:  "A  certain  man  sent  his 
servant  to  market  to  buy  some  good 
food.    The  servant  returned,  bringing 


with  him  some  tongues. 


Again  he 


sent  the  same  servant  to  buy  some 
bad  food.  The  servant  again  brought 
tongues.  The  master  said :  '  What 
is  the  reason,  that  when  I  sent  you  to 
buy  good  and  bad  food,  you  brought 
tongues?'  The  servant  answered, 
'From  the  tongue  both  good  and  evil 
come  to  man.  If  it  be  good,  there 
is  nothing  better;  if  it  be  bad,  there 
is  nothing  worse.' " 


KELIGIOUS    E.MBLEMS. 


81 


2  TIMOTHY, 

Chap,  iii: 
verse  2. 


LUKE, 

Chap,  vi: 
verse  44. 


1  JOHN, 

Chap,  ii: 
verse  16. 


GALATIANS, 

'  Chap.  V : 
verse  19. 


PSALM 

xxxvii: 

vei'se  35. 


DEUTEEO'MY, 

Chap,  xxxii: 

verso  32. 


JOB, 

Chap,  xiv 

verse  4. 


MATTHEW, 
Chap,  xii :  . 
verse  35. 


THE    TREE    OF    EVIL. 

The  tree  corrupt,  mid  his  fruit  corrupt ;  for  the  free  is  knovni  by  his 

fruit.     Matt,  xii:  33. Every  tree  vjhich  briiigeth  not  forth  good 

fruit  is  hewn  down,  and  cast  into  the  fire.     3Iatt.  iii:  10. 


•Here,  in  dread  silence,  on  the  bli<!;bted  heatli 
Behold!  the  Tree  of  Evil,  and  of  Death: 
No  heavenly  breeze  throughout  the  region  blows; 
No  life  of  Love  exists  where'er  it  grows; 
No  flowers  of  Hope  around  it  ever  bloom; 
No  fruit  of  Faith  e'er  yields  its  rich  perfume; 
Fell  Unbelief  strikes  deep  its  deadly  root; 
The  branches  bend  with  most  pr^rnicious  fruit; 
The  Pride  of  Life,  and  Fleshly  Lusts  hang  there, 


Emblems  of  misery,  anguish,  and  despair. 
Two  men  employed  in  different  ways  j-ou  see, 
To  rid  the  groaning  earth  of  this  bad  tree: 
One  only  lops  a  branch  just  here  and  there, 
That  makes  its  neighbor  more  productive  bear 
The  other,  by  experience  taught  to  know, 
Aims  at  the  root  his  well-directed  blow; 
Blow  affor  blow  through  the  wide  heath  rf-soun i, 
And  with  a  crash,  it  falls  and  shreds  the  ground. 


The  Tree  of  Desolation  staiitls 
alone  upon  the  blasted  heath.  It 
sheds  its  baleful  influence  far  and 
wide.  No  dewy  meads,  nor  grassy 
plains,  or  verdant  lawns  are  seen 
around;  no  blushing  fields,  waving 
luxuriantly  the  golden  ear;  no  laugli- 
iug  flowers,  bestudding  the  earth  with 
their  stavry  gems,  nor  spicy  groves, 
6 


breathing  the  odor  of  delight,  can 
live  or  flourish  here.  The  lowing 
kine,  the  bloating,  fleecy  tribe,  the 
choral  songsters  of  the  woods,  arc 
never  heard;  here,  in  these  regions, 
eternal  silence  reigns.  This  corrupt 
tree  is  altogether  of  a  poisonous 
quality.  Its  roots,  bark,  branches, 
leaves,  and  fruit  arc  all  poison. 


RELIGIOUS    EMBLEMS, 


T\vo  men  are  seen  at  work  npon 
the  tree;  their  object  is  to  deUver  the 
country  from  so  great  an  evil.  The 
one  on  the  right  hand  has  been  em- 
ployed many  years,  without  effecting 
any  thing;  he  merely  lops  off  a 
branch  here  and  there;  this  only  adds 
Ftrength  to  the  remaining  branches, 
and  makes  them  more  fruitful ;  mean- 
while, the  excised  limb  sprouts  again. 
The  one  on  the  left,  more  wise,  wants 
to  cut  the  tree  down ;  to  this  end,  he 
comes  prepared  Avith  a  good  sharp 
ax;  he  directs  his  blows  at  the  root 
of  the  tree ;  blow  follows  blow  in 
quick  succession,  every  stroke  tells, 
and  soon  the  monster  tree  lies  pros- 
trate on  the  ground. 

The  Tree  of  Evil  is  an  emblem  of 
an  evil  heart,  the  bad  fruit  of  a  bad 
life.  The  unconverted  man  sheds  a 
deleterious  influence  all  around  him. 
In  his  soul  there  is  alack  of  spiritual 
graces;  faith,  love,  hope,  peace,  joy, 
long-suffering  are  all  wanting.  A 
spiritual  death  exists.  Unbelief  is 
the  poison  that  corrupts  the  heart. 
Thoughts,  words,  and  actions  are  all 
poisoned.  Faith  is  put  for  the  whole 
of  religion,  and  unbelief  for  an  un- 
godly life.  Hence  it  is  said,  "He 
that  bdievdh  shall  be  saved,"  etc. 

The  fruit  of  the  evil  heart  is  the 
pride  of  life,  i.  e.,  a  love  of  the  hon- 
ors and  glories  of  the  world,  the  lust 
of  the  flesh,  i.  e.,  intoxicating  drink, 
gluttony,  and  adultery,  and  the  vari- 
ous pleasures  of  sin;  the  lust  of  the 


eye,  i.  c,  love  of  fine  dress,  fine  fur- 
niture, and  the  vanities  of  this  life. 
He  spends  his  wretched  strength  for 
naught,  who  labors  to  reform  his  out- 
ward conduct  only.  He  may  make  a 
good  Pharisee,  but  he  will  never  make 
a  Christian.  His  heart  still  continues 
" deceitful  and  wicked."  "First  make 
the  tree  good,  and  the  fruit  will  be 
good  also." 

He  alone  is  the  wise  man  who 
"lays  the  ax  at  the  root  of  the  tree," 
who  strikes  at  unbelief,  who  believes 
the  truth  as  it  is  in  Jesus.  He  prays 
with  David,  ^^  Create  in  me  a  clean 
heart,"  relying  on  the  promise  of 
God,  "A  new  heart  will  I  give  unto 
you."  Thus  he  is  "  created  anew  in 
Christ  Jesus  unto  good  works."  "  He 
has  his  fruit  unto  holiness,  and  the 
end  everlasting  life." 

Travelers  inform  us  of  a  poison  tree 
found  in  the  island  of  Java,  which  is 
said  by  its  effluvia  to  have  "depopu- 
lated the  country  for  twelve  or  four- 
teen miles  around  tlie  place  of  its 
growth.  It  is  called  ^Bohan  Upas.'' 
Poisoned  arrows  are  prepared  with 
the  juice  of  it.  Condemned  criminals 
are  sent  to  the  tree  to  get  this  juice,  ■ 
carrying  with  them  proper  directions 
how  to  obtain  it,  and  how  to  secure 
themselves  from  the  malignant  ex- 
halations, and  are  pardoned  if  they 
bring  back  a  certain  quantity  of  the 
poison ;  but  by  the  register  there  kept, 
not  one  in  four  is  said  to  return." 


KELiGious  e:\iblems 


83 


GENESIS, 

Chap,  xlix: 

verses  6,  7. 


PEOYERBS 

Chap,  xiv: 

verse  17. 


MATTHEW, 
Chap,  v: 
verse  22. 


ECCLESIAST'S, 

Chap,  vii: 

verse  9. 


PEOYEEBS, 
Chap,  xxii:  ^^ 


ACTS, 

Chap,  xxvi; 

verse  11. 


PEOYEEBS, 

Chap,  xxvii: 

verse  3. 


ANGER,    OR    MADNESS. 

Anger  resteth  in  f  he  bosom  of  fools.     Ecd.  vii:  9.- 
anger  and  forsake  lora.th.     Ps.  xxxvii:  6. 


■Cease  from 


Upon  the  margin  of  the  silvery  flood, 
Come,  sae  the  Lion  in  his  wrathful  mood. 
His  roar  terrific  echoing  rocks  rebound, 
And  nature  trembles  at  the  dreadful  sound; 
His  furious  tail  he  works  from  side  to  side, 
His  bristly  mane  he  shakes  with  awful  pride; 
His  eyes,  wild  rolling,  glare  wiih  startling  light, 


With  paw  upraised,  he  stands  prepared  for  fight. 
And  wherefore  stands  he  thus  with  warlike  look? 
He  sees  his  image  in  the  quiet  brook. 
Man,  born  to  reason,  like  the  foolish  beast. 
Lets  rage  hot  boiling  fester  in  his  breast; 
The  cause  as  futile;   he  himself  possessed 
i  Of  evil  tempers,  colors  all  the  rest. 


Look!  here  is  the  Lion,  the  kin^ 
of  beasts.  See  where  he  stands,  mad- 
dened with  rage.  The  sava<2:e  mon- 
arch is  alone;  the  beasts  of  the  field 
hide  themselves  when  he  is  an2:rv; 
his  dreadful  roar  makes  them  tremble 
in  their  dens;  the  echoinsr  bills  reply 
to  the  sound  thereof.  Now  he  be- 
comes hot  with  passion.  He  lashes 
with  his  furious  tail  liis  heaving  sides; 


he  shakes  thunder  from  his  shaggy 
mane;  his  eyes  dart  lightning.  See! 
he  has  raised  his  murderous  paw;  he 
is  ready  to  grapple  with  his  foe. 
Terrible  he  looks  in  the  season  of  his 
wrath. 

But  what  has  enkindled  his  rage? 
What  is  the  cause  of  this  fierce  com- 
motion? Nothingbut  hisown  shadow, 
lie  sees  his   reflected   image   in   the 


84 


EELIGIOUS    E]MBLEMS. 


placid  stream.  Face  answers  to  face ; 
every  indication  of  passion  is  faitb- 
fally  reflected.  He  beholds  no  com- 
mon foe.  He  prepares  himself  for 
mortal  combat. 

The  above  engraving  is  an  emblem 
of  Anger,  and  of  the  worthless  causes 
that  oftentimes  give  rise  to  it.  Anger 
is  one  of  the  most  fierce  and  deadly 
passions  that  agitate  the  human 
breast,  and  afflict  mankind.  Let 
anger  ascend  the  throne  of  the  hu- 
man mind,  and  all  other  passions, 
affections,  and  interests  are  trampled 
under  foot.  A  brother  lies  swim- 
ming in  his  blood,  a  village  is  de- 
populated with  the  edge  of  the  sword, 
cities  burn  amid  the  conflagration  of 
fire,  and  kingdoms,  given  over  to  the 
horrors  of  wrath,  become  desolate, 
pass  into  oblivion,  and  are  known  no 
more.  But  who  can  declare  the  mis- 
eries that  flow  from  anger  ? 

Anger,  as  a  sinful  passion,  is  never 
justifiable;  but  it  oftentimes  exists 
without  any  real  cause  whatever. 
Like  the  lion  in  the  picture,  the  man 
is  angry  at  the  reflection  of  himself; 
it  is  his  own  image  that  he  sees.  He 
imagines,  and  this  is  all ;  his  own  evil 
temj»er  colors  all  besides.  The  object 
of  his  wrath  is  innocent,  perhaps  as 
quiet  as  an  unruffled  lake. 

Be  sure,  before  you  give  way  to 
auger,  that  your  neighbor  has  injured 
you,  and  then — forgive  him.  But 
even  if  an  apparent  cause  does  exist, 
suppose  some  one  has  injured  me. 
Is  uot  this  enough?    He  that  sinneth, 


wrongeth  his  own  soul;  shall  I  there- 
fore sin  and  wrong  mine?  To  have 
an  enemy  is  bad ;  to  be  one  is  worse. 
And  why  should  I  inflict  self-punish-- 
ment  for  the  crime  of  another? 

There  is  a  degree  of  madness  con- 
nected with  anger.  The  angry  man 
is  brutishly  insane.  This  is  so  wher- 
ever it  is  seen,  whether  we  regard  it 
in  the  conduct  of  Xerxes,  who  flogged 
the  waves,  and  cast  fetters  into  the 
sea  to  bind  it,  because  it  broke  his 
bridge  of  boats,  or  in  its  daily  out- 
breaks around  us. 

But  is  there  no  cure  for  this  con- 
tagious evil?  There  is.  "What  is  it? 
When  Athenodorus  was  about  to  re- 
tire from  the  court  of  Augustus  Cpesar, 
he  gave  the  emperor  this  advice :  "  Re- 
member, whenever  you  feel  angry,  that 
you  neither  say  nor  do  any  thing  un- 
til you  have  repeated  all  the  letters  of 
the  alphabet."  This  is  good,  but  the 
following  is  better :  When  a  man 
feels  himself  sinking  into  the  gulf  of 
angry  passion,  looking  by  faith  on 
the  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  let  him  ex- 
claim, "  Lord,  save  or  I  perish ! " 
The  rising  storm  will  pass  away,  and 
all  will  be  calm  and  peaceful. 

"  The  wise  will  let  their  anger  cool, 
At  least  before  't  is  night; 
But  in  the  bosom  of  a  fool, 
It  burns  till  morning  light." 


"  Anger  and  wrath,  and  hateful  pride, 
This  moment  be  subdued: 
Be  cast  into  the  crimson  tide 
Of  my  Kedeemer's  blood." 


EELIGIOUS    EMBLEMS 


85 


JOB, 

Chap,  xlii : 
verse  6. 


EZEKIEL, 

Chap,  xiv: 
verse  6. 


JOEL, 

Chap,  ii: 
verses  12,  13. 


MARK, 

Chap,  i : 
verse  15. 


LUKE, 

Chap,  xiii : 
verse  3. 


ACTS, 
Chap,  ii: 
verse  38. 


LUKE, 

Chap,  xxiv; 
verse  47. 


LUKE, 

Chap.  XV ; 
verse  7. 


REPENTANCE 


Ps.  Ii:  17.- 


-He  that 


The  sacrifices  of  God  are  a  broken  spirit. 

coveretk  his  si7is  shall  not  prosper;  but  ichoso  confesseth  and  for- 

saketh  them  shall  find  mercy.     Prov.  xxviii:  13, 


On  bended  knees,  replete  with  godly  crrief, 
See,  where  the  mourner  kneels  to  seek  relief; 
No,  "  God,  I  thank  thee,"  freezes  on  his  tongue, 
For  works  of  merit  that  to  him  belong: 
Deep  in  his  soul  conviction's  plowshare  rings. 
And  to  the  surface  his  corruption  brings; 


He  loathes  himself,  in  lowest  dust  he  lies, 
And  all-abased,  "  Unclean,  unclean,"  he  cries. 
From  his  full  heart  pours  forth  the  gushing  plea^ 
"God  of  the  lost,  be  merciful  to  me!  " 
The  light  of  life  descends  in  heavenly  rays, 
And  angels  shout,  and  sing,  'Behold,  he  prays."' 


Behold  here  an  iiidividnal  on  his 
knees,  weeping.  lie  is  in  great  dis- 
tress of  mind;  he  has  retired  from 
the  busy  walks  of  life,  and  come  to 
this  place  of  solitnde,  to  give  vent  to 
his  feeliiiiifs.  His  groans  break  the 
surrounding  silence;  they  return  in 
Boft  but  melancholy  echoes  to  his 
ears.  Above  his  head  are  seen  de- 
scending particles  of  heavenly  light; 


a  little  in  the  rear  stands  the.  plow, 
imbedded  in  the  opening  earth. 

This  is  an  emblem  of  liepeutance. 
The  man  bowed  on  his  knees  repre- 
sents the  true  penitent,  whose  soul  is 
humbled  under  the  mighty  hand  of 
God.  He  Avith draws  from  the  vani- 
ties of  the  world;  he  is  sick  of  sin; 
he  breaks  the  silence  of  solitude  with 
his  inquiries   of,    "  0,   that   I    knew 


83 


EELIGIOUS    EMBLEMS 


where  I  might  find  him !"  He  does 
not,  in  the  pride  of  self-righteous- 
ness, exckiim,  "  God,  I  thank  thee 
that  I  am  not  as  other  men,"  etc. 
0,  no !  too  deeply  he  feels  the  plague 
of  his  own  heart. 

As  the  plow  enters  the  hard  soil, 
and  lays  bare  furrow  after  furrow, 
ev^en  so  has  conviction  penetrated  the 
heart  of  the  true  penitent,  and  laid 
bare  its  deceiful  folds,  and  discovered 
its  once  hidden  depths  of  pollution 
and  guilt.  He  abhors  himself  in  dust 
and  in  ashes;  he  can  only  say,  God 
be  merciful  to  me  a  sinner.  The 
plowshare  of  God's  convicting  s|)irit 
has  entered  and  broken  up  the  fallow 
ground  of  his  heart;  hence  he  brings 
the  sacrifice  with  which  God  is  well 
pleased — that  is,  "  a  broken  and  con- 
trite heart" — and  the  light  of  Jeho- 
vah's countenance  falls  full  upon  his 
soul,  as  an  inward  token  of  divine 
acceptance. 

Repentance  consists  in  a  change  of 
mind  or  purpose,  wherein  the  peni- 
tent "  ceases  to  do  evil,"  and  "  learns 
to  do  well."  The  prodigal  repented 
when  he  said,  "  I  will  arise  and  go  to 
my  father,"  and  departed.  The  farm- 
er's son,  who,  when  he  had  refused 
to  go  and  work  in  the  vineyard,  and 
afterward  altered  his  purpose  and 
went,  repented.  Saul  of  Tarsus, 
when  he  refused  any  longer  to  obey 
the  mandates  of  the  chief  priests 
and  scribes,  and  inquired,  "  Lord, 
what  wilt  thou  have  me  to  do?"  re- 
pented. Thus  we  see  it  consists  in 
actually  doing  the  will  of  God.  It 
is  not  mere  anxiety ;  Simon  Magus 
had  this ;  nevertheless  he  was  still  in 
the  "  bonds  of  iniquity."  IsTor  mere 
trembling;  Felix  trembled,  yet  re- 
tained his  sins.     !Nor  remorse;  Judas 


had  this,  and  died  in  despair;  and 
Dives  also,  though  in  the  regions  of 
the  lost. 

Kepentance  is  the  gate  of  heaven. 
It  is  the  condition,  upon  the  fulfill- 
ment of  which  depends  eternal  life, 
"  You  repent,  and  I  will  forgive." 
Hence  the  ambassadors  of  heaven 
have  invariably  directed  the  attention 
of  sinners  to  this  as  a  first  step  to- 
ward obtaining  the  favor  of  God,  and 
every  promised  blessing.  The  proph- 
ets, in  their  denunciations;  John  of 
the  Desert,  in  his  fiery  exhortations; 
the  Savior,  in  his  divine  instructions, 
and  the  apostles,  in  their  warm  ap- 
peals, enjoined  upon  every  soul  "re- 
pentance toward  God." 

Through  this  gate  all  have  passed 
who  have  at  any  time  been  recog- 
nized by  the  Almighty  as  his  serv- 
ants. The  children  of  Israel  passed 
through  it,  typically,  when  they  ate 
the  bitter  herbs — before  they  beheld 
the  pillars  of  cloud  and  of  fire  in  the 
wilderness;  Isaiah,  ere  he  touched 
the  sacred  harp  of  prophesy;  Elijah, 
ere  he  ascended  in  the  chariot  of 
ethereal  tire;  Ezekiel,  before  he  gazed 
upon  the  visions  of  the  Eternal;  Dan- 
iel, before  the  Angel  of  God  pro- 
nounced him  "Blessed;"  Paul,  ere 
he  was  "  caught  up  to  the  third  heav- 
en;" and  John  of  Patmos,  before  the 
glorious  Pevelations  of  "Alpha  and 
Omega"  filled  him  with  wonder  and 
astonishment;  and  "  the  hundred  and 
forty-four  thousand,"  ere  they  sung 
the  song  of  Moses  and  of  the  Lamlj. 
Kepentance  is  a  sacred  duty;  God 
"now  commands  all  men  every-where 
to  repent."  Why?  "Because  all  have 
sinned,  and  come  shoi't  of  the  glory 
of  God ;"  and,  "'Except  ye  repent,  ye 
shall  all  likewise  perish." 


EELIGIOUS    EMBLEMS, 


87 


PEOYEEBS, 
Chap,  x: 
verse  24. 


ISAIAH, 
Chap,  iii: 
verse  11. 


PSALM 

liii: 
verse  5. 


KEVELATION, 

Chap.  XXI : 
verse  8. 


PSALM 

xxvii : 
verse  3. 


PSALM 

Ivi: 
verse  4. 


PEOYEEBS, 

Chap,  xxix: 

verse  6. 


PSALM 

xxiii: 
verse  4. 


FEARFUL    AND    FEARLESS. 

The  wicked  flee  when  no  man  jmrsueth,  but  the  righteous  are  as 
bold  as  a  lion.     Frov.  xzciii:  1. 


Here  is  depicted  plainly  to  the  eye, 
The  wicked  fleeing  when  no  foe  is  nigh. 
The  thunder  echoing  in  its  deep-toned  peals, 
Alai'ms  his  conscience,  and  awakes  his  heels. 
The  wind  low  whistling  through  the  hollow  tree, 
A  call  from  justice  is,  from  which  they  flee; 
The  rolling  torrent,  in  its  murmurs  loud, 


Appears  the  shout  of  the  pursuing  crowd; 
Each  object  looming  through  the  gloom  of  night, 
His  fear  increases,  and  augments  his  flight. 
Not  so  the  Righteous;   see  him  walk  along. 
Bold  as  a  lion,  as  a  mountain  strong. 
Courageous  heart,  he  fears  no  rude  surprise, 
He  trusts  in  Jesus,  and  all  else  defies. 


This  engraving  shows  a  man  run- 
ning as  it  were  for  his  life.  On  the 
other  hand  is  seen  one  who  walks 
steadily  and  boldly  forward.  The 
former  is  Fearful;  he  is  alarmed  at 
every  thing  he  sees  and  hears;  ho  is 
afraid  of  his  own  shadow.  The  dis- 
tant echo  of  reverberating  thunder 
strikes  terror  into  his  heart;  the  au- 
tumnal breeze,  rustling  through  the 


fallino:  leaves,  makes  him  afraid;  the 
neighboring  torrent,  as  it  tumbles 
down  the  mountain  ravine,  causes 
him  to  fear.  He  can  not  endure 
darkness,  neither  can  he  bear  the 
light.  He  is  afraid  of  company,  yet 
he  fears  to  be  left  alone.  Now  he  is 
fleeing  when  there  is  none  pursuing. 
How  differert  the  fearless  man! 
See  how  boldly  he  walivs  aU)ng.    The 


EELIGIOUS    EMBLEMS. 


gloom  of  night  is  nothing  to  him;  he 
appears  to  fear  no  evih  While  others 
are  running,  he  stands  his  ground ; 
while  they  are  afraid,  his  heart  is 
strong. 

This  emblem  is  descriptive  of  two 
characters:  of  the  Righteous  and  of 
the  Wicked.  It  is  the  luicked  who 
llee  when  none  pursue.  Their  guilty 
conscience  transforms  every  object 
into  an  enemy;  therefore  they  are  in 
fear  where  no  fear  is,  and  flee  away 
in  terror. 

A  Christian  king  of  Hungary,  talk- 
ing one  day  with  his  brother,  who 
was  a  gay,  thoughtless  courtier,  upon 
the  subject  of  a  future  judgment,  was 
laughed  at  by  his  brother  for  indulg- 
ing in  "melancholy  thoughts."  The 
king  made  no  reply.  There  was  a 
custom  in  that  country  that  if  the 
executioner  sounded  a  trumpet  be- 
fore any  man's  door,  that  man  was 
led  instantly  to  death.  The  king  or- 
dered the  trumpet  to  be  sounded  that 
night  before  the  door  of  his  brother, 
who,  on  hearing  the  dismal  sound, 
and  seeing  the  messenger  of  death, 
was  greatly  alarmed.  He  sprang  into 
the  presence  of  the  king,  beseeching 
to  know  how  he  had  offended.  "Alas, 
my  brother!"  replied  the  king,  "you 
have  never  offended  me;  but  if  the 
sight  of  my  executioner  is  so  dread- 
ful, shall  not  we,  who  have  so  greatly 
offended  God,  fear  to  be  brought  be- 
fore the  judgment-seat  of  Christ?" 

M.  Volney,  a  French  infidel,  it  is 
well  known,  was  frightened  during  a 


storm,  while  some  Christian  ladies, 
his  fellow-passengers,  bore  all  with 
unruffled  composure.  M.  Voltaire,  a 
Frenchman  also,  and  of  the  same 
stamp,  affected  to  despise  the  Chris- 
tian religion  during  life;  yet  on  his 
death-bed  he  sent  to  Dr.  Tronchin,  a 
priest,  to  administer  to  him  the  sac- 
rament. It  was  affirmed  of  him  that 
he  was  afraid  to  be  left  alone  in  the 
dark. 

The  righteous  man  is  afraid  of 
nothing  but  sin.  He  goes  forward 
in  the  path  of  duty,  though  dangers 
grow  thick  around  him.  He  enters 
the  burning,  fiery  furnace,  and  grap- 
ples with  its  curling  flames.  He  de- 
scends into  the  den  of  lions,  the  king 
of  beasts  crouches  at  his  feet.  In  the 
storm  at  midnight,  tossed  upon  the 
raging  billows,  he  is  calm  in  the  pres- 
ence of  the  God  he  serves,  and  to 
whom  he  belongs.  In  earthquake's 
shock,  when  temples  are  falling,  earth 
opening,  and  ruin  reigns  around,  he 
stands  fearless  amid  the  desolation, 
exclaiming,  "  Therefore  will  we  not 
fear,  though  the  earth  be  removed 
out  of  its  place."  Descending  the 
dark  vale  of  death  itself,  he  says  ex- 
ultingly,  "  Tliough  I  walk  through 
the  valley  and  shadow  of  death,  I 
will  fear  no  evil."  And  when  the 
last  enemy  stands  full  in  his  presence, 
he  sings  triumphantly: 


"  Lend,  lend  your  wings;  I  mount — I  fly; 
0  grave,  where  is  thy  victory  ? 
0  death,  where  is  thy  sting  ?" 


KELIGIOUS    EMBLEMS, 


83 


MATTHEW, 

Chap,  vi: 
verse  24. 


1  KINGS, 

Chap,  xviii; 
vei'se  21. 


JAMES, 
Chap,  i: 
verse  8. 


ISAIAH, 

Chap,  xxix: 

verse  13. 


1  JOHN^, 
Chap,  ii : 
S  verses  15,  16. 


2  TIMOTHY, 

^      '  Chaj).  iii: 

verse  4. 


2  TIMOTHY, 

Chap,  iv; 
i  verse  10. 


Pi      PHILLIPP'NS, 
fe.  Chap,  iii : 

verse  19. 


THE    TWO   WORLDLrnGS. 

TTiey  profess  that  they  know   God;  hut  in  works  they  deny  Mm. 

Titus,  i:  16. If  any  man  love  the  world,  the  love  of  the  Father 

is  not  in  him.     1  John,  ii:  15. 


V  'Ew  here  spread  out  the  plains  of  heavenly  light, 
And  narrow  way,  that  ends  where  all  is  bright. 
Behold,  with  globes,  upon  the  lightsome  green. 
To  different  work  addressed,  two  men  are  seen. 
With  careless  ease  one  rolls  his  globe  along, 
And  follows  after,  full  of  mirth  and  song; 
The  other  strives  to  more  his  worUl's  vast  weight, 
Up  hill,  toward  the  brightly-shining  gate: 


He  strives  in  vain;  the  globe,  though  in  the  track, 
Still  downward  tending,  drives  him  further  back. 
And  though  they  seem  contrary  roads  to  go, 
They  meet  together  in  the  vale  below. 
Thus  some  pursue  an  open  course  of  sin; 
Some  Christ  profess,  yet  hold  the  world  within. 
Though  these  appear  to  play  a  different  game, 
Their  fate  is  equal,  and  their  end  the  same. 


In  the  engravinsr,  two  men  are 
seen  employed  in  rollino:  2:lobes.  The 
one  on  the  ris^ht  hand  has  very  easy 
work  of  it;  he  is  coinc  down  hill; 
his  globe  rolls  on  Vapidly.  lie  fol- 
lows after  with  great  glee  and  meri- 
ment;  soon  he  is  out  of  sight  below. 


The  one  on  the  left  is  seen,  with  liis 
globe,  in  the  path  that  leads  to  the 
gate  of  brightness.  He  is  striving  to 
make  his  way  toward  the  gate  of 
light,  with  the  ponderous  world  be- 
fore him.  In  vain  lie  struggles,  and 
heavens,  and  lifts;  it  still  presses  down 


90 


EELIGIOUS    EMBLEMS 


upon  him,  and  bears  him  backward, 
till  at  length  he  iinds  himself  at  the 
bottom  of  the  valley,  where  he  meets 
his  neighbor,  who  laughs  heartily  at 
him  for  taking  so  much  trouble  to 
effect  what  he  accomplished  so  easily. 

This  picture  represents  two  kinds 
of  worldly  characters,  who  both  equal- 
ly miss  of  heaven  in  the  end.  The 
gate  of  light  shows  the  entrance  to 
the  New  Jerusalem;  the  pathway 
signities  the  way  of  holiness,  leading 
thereunto;  the  man  on  the  right,  roll- 
ing his  ball  along  so  gayly,  represents 
the  professed  man  of  the  world.  He 
has  chosen  honors^  riches,  and  pleasures 
for  his  portion.  These,  combined, 
form  the  deity  that  he  worships. 
Where  they  lead,  he  follows;  where 
they  tarry,  there  he  also  abides  ;  hence 
he  turns  his  back  upon  the  way  of 
life,  and  upon  the  glories  of  the  up- 
per world.  He  is  no  hypocrite — not 
he ;  he  glories  in  his  conduct ;  he  will 
have  nothing  to  do  with  church  or 
minister,  prayer-book  or  Bible.  He 
says  in  his  heart,  "  There  is  no  God," 
and  casting  off  all  fears,  he  hastens 
down  the  road  that  leads  to  death, 
and  receives  the  doom  which  awaits 
"all  those  who  forget  God." 

He  on  the  left  represents  one  who, 


while  professedly  a  follower  of  Christ, 
yet  loves  the  honors,  riches,  and  pleas- 
ures of  the  world.  He  thinks  the 
Bible  may  be  a  true  book,  and  heaven 
worth  having  when  he  can  have  no 
more  of  earth,  therefore  he  is  found 
in  the  way.  Ife  professes  to  love 
God,  but  in  works  he  denies  him; 
he  makes,  consequently,  no  progress 
heavenward.  The  world  is  too  much 
for  him;  it  obtains  more  and  more 
power  over  liim,  until  it,  after  hav- 
ing made  him  miserable  on  earth, 
sinks  him  into  the  gulf  of  woe,  where 
lie  receives  his  portion  with  the  "  hyp' 
ocrites  and  unbelievers.'^ 

When  in  the  light  of  faith  divine, 

We  look  on  things  below, 
Honor,  and  gold,  and  sensual  joy, 

How  vain  and  dangerous  too! 

Honor's  a  puff  of  noisy  breath: 

Yet  men  expose  their  blood, 
And  venture  everlasting  death, 

To  gain  that  airy  good. 

While  others  starve  the  nobler  mind, 

And  feed  on  shining  dust. 
They  rob  the  serpent  of  his  food, 

T'  indulge  a  sordid  lust. 

Tlie  pleasures  that  allure  our  sense 
Are  dangerous  snares  to  souls; 

There's  but  a  drop  of  flattering  sweet, 
And  dashed  with  bitter  bowls. 

Dr.  Waiu 


KELIGIOUS    EMBLEMS 


9) 


EOMANS, 

Chap,  i : 
verse  17. 


EOMANS, 

Chap,  iv: 

verse  5. 


HEBEEWS, 
Chap,  x: 
verse  5. 


LUKE, 

Chap,  viii: 
verse  50. 


JAMES, 
Chap,  ii: 
verse  17. 


JAMES, 
Chap,  ii: 
verse  21. 


1  THESSAL'NS, 
Chap,  i: 
verse  3. 


EEYELATION, 
Chap.  XX : 
,     verse  13. 


FAITH   AKD    "WORKS. 

Seest  thou  how  faith  wrought  with  his  works,  and  by  loorks  was  faith 
made  perfect.     James,  ii:  22. 


Lo!   where  the  Boatman  stems  tlie  flowing  tide, 

And  aims  direct  his  little  bark  to  guide; 

With  both  oars  working,  he  can  headway  make. 

And  leave  the  waters  foaming  in  his  wake; 

l?ut  if  one  oar  within  the  boat  he  lays, 

In  useless  circles,  round  and  round,  he  plays. 


So  Faith  and  Works,  when  both  together  brought, 
With  mighty  power,  and  heavenly  life  are  fraught, 
To  help  the  Christian  on  his  arduous  road, 
And  urge  him  forward  on  his  way  to  God : 
If  Faith  or  Works,  no  matter  which,  he  drops, 
Short  of  his  journey's  end  he  surely  stops. 


Look  at  the  honest  waterman  ply- 
ing at  his  daily  occupation,  lie  has 
just  left  a  passenger  on  the  other  side. 
See  with  what  precision  he  guides  his 
little  boat.  By  pulling  both  oars  with 
equal  strength,  he  makes  rapid  prog- 
ress, and  steers  straight.  He  leaves 
the  waters  foaming  in  his  track;  this 
is  called  his  wake.  If  he  should  lay 
iu   either  of  his   oars,   his    progress 


would  at  once  be  stopped.  As  long 
as  he  plies  both,  he  goes  ahead;  but 
let  him  pull  but  one  ever  so  hard, 
and  he  could  not  advance  a  foot. 
Round  and  round  he  would  float,  in 
eddying  circles,  forever.  In  vain 
w^ould  his  passengers  aw^tit  his  ar- 
rival ;  in  vain  would  his  wife  and  lit- 
tle ones  expect  his  return ;  he  would 
never  more  return ;  probably  he  would 


92 


EELIGIOUS    EMBLEMS, 


drift  out  to  sea,  and  be  lost  in  the  im- 
mensity of  old  ocean. 

The  accompanying  engraving  is  an 
emblem  of  Faith  and  Works  united. 
The  Christian  has  a  "  calling,"  or  occu- 
pation, in  which  he  makes  progress 
so  long  as  faith  and  works  are  united. 
They  are  to  him  as  a  propelling  power, 
urging  him  forward  in  his  pathway  to 
immortality.  He  exerts  a  holy  influ- 
ence wherever  he  goes,  and  leaves  a 
brilliant  track  behind  him.  It  is  seen 
that  a  man  of  God  has  been  there. 
But  let  him  lay  in  one  of  his  oars; 
let  it  be  said  of  him,  "  He  hath  left  off 
to  do  good,"  and  his  progress  m  the 
divine  life  will  at  once  be  checked. 
Let  him  lay  aside  "Faith,"  and  the 
effect  will  be  the  same.  He  may,  in- 
deed, go  round  and  round,  like  a  mill- 
horse,  in  a  circle  of  dry  performances; 
but  he  will  never  reach  the  Christian's 
home.  In  vain  will  his  friends,  who 
have  gone  before  him,  expect  his  ar- 
rival; he  will  never  see  the  King  in 
his  beauty.  The  current  of  sin  will 
bear  him  outward  and  downward,  and 
land  him  eventually  in  the  gulf  of  the 
lost. 

Some  there  are  who  have  "  faith," 
yet  who  are  destitute  of  "  good  works." 
"The  devils  believe,"  but  they  neither 
love  nor  obey — devils  they  continue. 
Deists  again,  men  who  believe  in  the 
being  and  unity  of  God  but  reject 
the  Bible  as  an  inspired  book,  have 
faith.  But  are  their  works  perfect 
(good)  before  God?     Will  their  faith 


save  them?  All  antinomians  are  of 
this  class. 

Some,  on  the  other  hand,  strive  to 
abound  in  "  works,"  who  yet  are  des- 
titute of  "faith."  Cain,  who  brought 
his  offering,  and  slew  his  brother 
Abel,  was  of  this  class.  The  Phari- 
sees, who  paid  tithes  of  all  they  pos- 
sessed, and  who  cried  out,  "Crucify 
him  !  crucify  him !"  were  also  of  this 
number.  The  professors  of  "  good 
works,"  in  our  own  day,  who  have 
no  true  faith  in  Christ,  are  of  this 
number;  for  all  offerings  whatsoever, 
that  are  not  perfumed  with  the  odor 
of  Christ's  sacrifice,  they  are  an 
abomination  to  the  Lord. 

In  Abraham  we  see  faith  and  works 
admirably  combined.  "He  believed 
God,  and  it  was  counted  to  him  for 
righteousness,"  "and  he  was  justified 
by  works,  when  he  had  offered  Isaac 
his  son  upon  the  altar."  "  Thus  faith 
wrought  with  his  works,  and  by  works 
was  faith  made  perfect." 

In  fine,  where  there  is  a  scriptural 
"faith,"  that  faith  which  is  the  evi- 
dence or  conviction  of  unseen  reali- 
ties, there  will  be  "works"  corre- 
sponding thereto,  as  surely  as  there 
IS  life  while  the  soul  is  in  the  body. 

On  the  other  hand,  where  there  is 
no  true  faith,  there  can  be  no  "  works  " 
acceptable  to  God,  no  more  than  there 
can  be  life  when  the  soul  has  left  the 
body.  "  For  as  the  body  without  the 
spirit  is  dead,  so  faith  without  works 
IS  dead  also." 


E  E  L  I  G I  0  U  S    EMBLEMS. 


93 


ACTS, 

Chap,  xix : 

verse  36. 


ECCLESIAST'S, 
Chap,  v: 
verse  2. 


PEG  VERBS, 

Chap,  xix: 
verse  2. 


ECCLESIAST'S, 

Chap,  viii : 

verse  3. 


1  COEIXTII'XS, 
Chap,  ix: 
verse  27. 


PEOYEEBS, 
Chap,  vi: 
verse  27. 


PEOYEEBS, 

Chap.  XV : 
verse  28. 


PEOYEEBS, 

Chap,  xxix: 

verse  20. 


PRECIPITATIOX,    on 


With  a  furious  man  thou  shall  not  go.     Prow 
simple  pass  on,  anxl  arc  punished.     Prov.  xxii 


rasii:n'ess. 

xxii:  24.- 


■The 


Behold  the  rash,  impetuous  charioteer, 
Who  reckless  urges  ou  his  wild  career; 
Dangers  and  darkness  thick  around  him  grow, 
High  cliffs  above,  and  yawning  gulfs  below; 
Yet  much  at  ease.     In  neither  fear  nor  pain, 
He  smacks  his  whip,  and  freely  gives  the  rein; 
Rocks,  vast,  precipitous,  he  dashes  by, 


But  frightful  chasms  now  before  him  lie; 
Down,  down  the  dreadful  precipice  he  tiies. 
And  dashed  to  pieces,  for  his  rashness  dies. 
Thus  willful  youth  to  passion  gives  the  reins. 
And  lengthened  grief,  for  pleasures  short,  obtains 
By  passion  drawn,  before  he  s  well  aware, 
He  sinks  o'erwhelmed  in  misery  and  despair. 


The  3^outh  above  is  seen  driviiio^ 
furiously  along  patlis  replete  with 
danger.  The  road,  if  road  it  may 
be  called,  becomes  more  and  more 
hazardous.  He  labors  not  to  curb 
the  fiery  steeds,  whose  speed  increases 
every  moment.  Instead  of  restrain- 
ing them,  he  cracks  his  whip,  and 
loosely  gives  the  rein.  He  appears 
to  be  wholly  uucoiiscious  of  his  im- 


minent peril.  Abrupt  cliffs  hang 
over  his  head,  and  deej),  awful  ravines 
open  on  each  side  of  his  path.  His 
situation  becomes  still  more  danger- 
ous; right  ahead  a  frightful  gulf  pre- 

I  sents  itself  to  his  eyes,  now  begin- 
ing  to  open.  With  the  rapidity  of 
lightning  he  approaches  the  dreadful 
brink;  on  the  conrsers  fly.     jS"ow  he 

;  sees  his  danger,  and  strives  to  check 


94 


EELIGIOUS    EMBLEMS. 


them.  It  is  in  vain;  they  have  had 
the  rein  too  long;  their  blood  is  up. 
With  a  fearful  bound,  over  the  preci- 
pice they  go;  horses  and  driver  are 
dashed  to  atoms  against  the  rocks, 
and  are  seen  no  more. 

Ancient  philosophers  used  to  com- 
pare human  passions  to  wild  horses, 
and  the  reason  of  man  to  the  driver, 
or  coachman,  whose  business  it  was 
to  control  and  guide  them  at  his  pleas- 
ure. .  But  many  men  have  more  com- 
mand over  their  horses  than  they  have 
over  themselves.  This  is  a  melan- 
choly truth.  Their  proud  chargers 
are  tauglit  to  stand  still,  to  galop,  to 
trot,  and  to  perform,  in  short,  all 
kinds  of  evolutions  with  perfect  ease; 
while  the  passions  run  away  with 
their  rightful  owners;  they  will  not 
submit  to  be  guided  by  reason.  It  is 
of  far  more  importance  that  a  man 
should  learn  to  govern  his  passions 
than  his  horses.  Our  passions,  like 
fire  and  water,  are  excellent  servants, 
but  bad  masters.  Horses,  to  be  use- 
ful, must  be  governable;  but  to  be 
governable,  the}^  must  be  broke  in 
betimes,  and  thoroughly.  So  with 
the  passions,  otherwise  their  power 
will  increase  over  that  of  reason,  and 
in  the  end  lead  to  ruin. 

Philosophy  may  do  much  in  en- 
abling us  to  govern  the  passions;  re- 
ligion, however,  can  do  more.  It  is 
said  of  Socrates,  who  had  a  wretched 
scold  for  a  wife,  that  one  day,  when 
she  was  scoldijg  him  at  a  great  rate, 


he  bore  it  very  patiently,  controlling 
himself  by  reason.  His  unruffled  com- 
posure enraged  her  still  more,  and  she 
threw  a  bowl  of  dirty  water  in  his 
face.  Then  he  spoke:  "It  is  quite 
natural,"  said  he,  smiling,  "  when  the 
thunder  has  spent  its  fury,  and  the 
lightning  its  fires,  that  the  teeming 
shower  should  descend." 

But  religion  is  more  easily  obtained 
than  philosophy,  and  it  is  far  more 
powerful.  It  imparts  a  gracious,  in- 
fluential principle  that  enables  who- 
soever submits  to  it  to  govern  his 
passions,  and  even  to  love  his  ene- 
mies, and  thus  to  conquer  them. 

Many  have  conquered  kingdoms, 
who  could  not  conquer  themselves. 
Thus  Alexander,  who,  being  a  slave 
to  his  passions,  slew  Clytus;  liis  most 
intimate  friend.  And,  notwithstand- 
ing the  laurels  that  have  been  woven 
for  the  conquerors  of  ancient  and  mod- 
ern times,  the  Almighty  himself  has 
prepared  a  diadem  of  glory  for  the 
self-conquered,  bearing,  in  letters  of 
heavenly  light,  this  inscription :  '■'■He 
that  rideth  his  own  spirit,  is  better  than 
he  that  taketh  a  city." 

Madness  by  nature  reigns  within, 
The  passions  burn  and  rage; 

Till  God's  own  Son,  with  skill  divine, 
The  inward  fire  assuage. 

We  give  our  souls  the  wounds  they  feel, 
We  drink  the  poisonous  gall, 

And  rush  with  fury  down  to  hell. 
But  heaven  prevents  the  fall. 

Dr.  Warn. 


K  E  L  I  G I  O  U  S    E  .M  B  L  E  M  S 


95 


PSALM 
xxxix: 
verse  6. 


ISAIAH, 

Chap,  xl: 
verse  6. 


1  JOHN", 
Chap,  ii: 
verse  17. 


EC.CLESIAST'S, 
'  Chap,  i: 
verse  8. 


ECCLESIAST'S, 

Chap,  iv: 

verse  8, 


ECCLESIAST'S, 
Chap,  v: 
verse  10. 


JOHN", 

Chaj).  v: 
verse  27. 


ECCLESIAST'S, 

Chap,  i : 
verse   2. 


YAIN   PURSUITS. 

Wherefore  do  ye  spend  money  for  that  vJtich  is  not  bread?  and 
your  labor  for  that  which  satisjieth  not  ?     Isa.  lu :  2. 


The  truant  urchin  has  forsook  the  school, 

To  learn  betimes  how  best  to  play  the  fool; 

O'er  hedge  and  brake,  beneath  a  burning  sun, 

With  breathless  haste,  he  perseveres  to  run; 

His  folly's  cause  is  pictured  to  the  eye; 

The  object  what? — A  painted  butterfly. 

At  length  outspent,  hegi-asps  the  trembling  thing, 


And  with  the  grasp,  destroys  the  painted  wing; 
Chagrined  he  views,  for  that  once  beauteous  form. 
Nothing  remains,  except  a  homely  worm. 
So  larger  children  leave  important  deeds. 
And  after  trifles  oft,  the  truant  speeds; 
And  if  by  toil  he  gains  the  gaudj'  prize, 
Alas!  'tis  changed — it  fades  away,  and  dies. 


The  foolish  boy,  leaving  the  useful 
and  delightful  pleasures  of  study, 
runs  after  a  pretty  butterfly  that  has 
attracted  his  attention.  On  he  runs, 
through  brake  and  brier,  over  hedges 
and  ditches,  up  hill  and  down  dale; 
the  sun,  at  the  same  time,  pours  down 
its  burning  rays  upon  his  uncovered 
head.  See  how  lie  sweats,  and  pufts, 
and  toils!  'Tis  all  in  vain;  just  as 
he  comes  up  with  the  prize,  away  it 


flies  'far  above  his  reach.  Still  he 
follows  on;  now  it  has  settled  upon 
a  favorite  flower.  He  is  sure  of  it 
now;  he  puts  forth  his  hand.  Lo! 
it  is  gone.  Still  he  pursues — on  and 
on  he  runs  after  the  glittering  insect. 
Presently  it  alights,  and  liides  itself 
within  the  leaves  of  the  lily  of  the 
valley.  For  awhile  he  loses  sight  of 
it ;  again  he  discovers  it  on  the  wing, 
and  asain  he  renews  the  chase.    Nor 


9G 


RELIGIOUS    EMBLE.MS. 


is  it  until  the  sun  descends  the  west- 
ern sky,  that  he  comes  up  with  the 
object  of  his  laborious  race.  Weary 
of  the  wing,  the  butterfly  seeks  shel- 
ter for  the  night  within  the  cup  of 
the  mountain  blue-bell.  The  boy, 
marking  its  hiding-place,  makes  a 
desperate  spring,  and  seizes  the  trem- 
bling beauty.  In  his  eagerness  to  pos- 
sess it,  he  has  crushed  its  tender 
wings,  and  marred  entirely  those 
golden  colors.  With  deep  mortifica- 
tion, and  bitter  regret  at  his  folly, 
he  beholds  nothing  left  but  a  mere 
grub,  an  almost  lifeless  worm,  without 
form  and  without  loveliness. 

This  emblem  aptly  shows  the  folly 
of  those  who,  whether  young  or  old, 
leaving  the  solid  paths  of  knowledge, 
of  industry,  and  of  lawful  pleasure, 
follow  the  vanities  of  this  life.  Cor- 
rupt and  unbridled  passions  and  vi- 
tiated tastes  lead,  in  the  end,  to  ruin. 

The  way  of  transgressors  is  hard, 
as  well  as  foolish  and  vain.  To  fol- 
low after  forbidden  objects  is  far  more 
laborious  than  to  pursue  those  only 
that  are  lawful.  It  is  said  of  ivisdom 
that  all  her  ways  are  ways  of  pleas- 
antness, that  all  her  paths  are  paths 
of  peace. 

The  mind  of  the  youth  who  is  in 
pursuit  of  vanities,  or  of  unlawful 
pleasures,  is  ever  raging,  like  a  tem- 
pest.    Now  up,  now  down — he  knows 


nothing  of  true  pleasure,  nothing  of 
solid  peace.  The  object  he  desires 
and  pursues  so  ardently  mocks  him 
again  and  again.  "To-morrow,"  he 
says  to  himself,  "will  give  me  the 
object  of  my  wishes."  To-morrow 
comes — once  more  it  eludes  his  grasp. 
Now  he  becomes  uneasy,  then  impa- 
tient, then  fretful,  then  anxious,  and 
then  desperate;  now  he  resolves  at 
all  hazards  to  seize  upon  the  prize — 
it  is  his  own ;  but  ah !  the  flowers 
have  faded,  the  beautiful  colors  have 
disappeared ;  the  angel  of  beauty  is 
transformed  into  a  loathsome  object. 
His  eyes  are  opened ;  and,  alas !  too 
late,  clisappointed  and  remorseful,  he 
learns  the  truth  of  the  maxim  that 
"it  is  not  all  gold  that  glitters." 

"  Man  has  a  poul  of  vast  desires ; 
He  burns  within  with  restless  fires; 
Tossed  to  and  fro,  his  passions  fly 
From  vanity  to  vanity. 

"  In  vain  on  earth  we  hope  to  find 
Some  solid  good  to  fill  the  mind: 
We  try  new  pleasures,  but  we  feel 
The  inward  thirst  and  torment  still. 

"  So  when  a  raging  fever  burns, 
We  shift  from  side  to  side  by  turns; 
And  'tis  a  poor  relief  we  gain, 
To  change  the  place,  but  keep  the  pain, 

"  Great  God !  subdue  the  vicious  thirsty 
This  love  to  vanity  and  dust; 
Cure  the  vile  fever  of  the  mind, 
And  feed  our  souls  with  joys  refined.' 
I)r.   Waits. 


KELIGIOUS    EMBLEMS 


07 


PSALM 

xxxvii: 
verses  35,  36. 


EZEKIEL,  m 

Chap,  xxi: 
verse  14. 


JUDGES, 

Chap,  i: 

verses  6,  7. 


DANIEL, 
Chap,  v: 
verse  20. 


PEOYERBS, 
Chap.  XV : 
verse  25. 


2  KINGS, 

Chap,  xviii: 
verse  28. 


2  KINGS, 

Chaj).  xix: 
verse  37. 


JAMES, 
Chap,  iv : 
verse  6. 


DANGER    OF    GREATNESS. 

Tht  high  ones  of  stature  shall  be  hewn  doivn,  and  the  haughty  shall 
be  humbled.     Isa.  x :  33. 


The  clouds  assemble  in  the  blackening  west, 
Anon  with  gloom  the  sky  becomes  o'ercast, 
United  winds  with  wide-mouthed  furj  roai-; 
Old  ocean,  rolling,  heaves  from  shore  to  shore; 
With  boiling  rage  the  waves  begin  to  rise, 
And  rufSan  billows  now  assail  the  skies; 
The  hardy  forests,  too,  affrighted  quake. 
The  hills  they  tremble,  and  the  mountains  shake; 


The  oak  majestic,  towering  to  the  skies, 
Laughs  at  the  whirlwind,  and  the  storm  defies, 
Spreads  wide  its  arms,  rejoicing  in  its  pride. 
And  meets  unbending  the  tornado's  tide; 
The  winds  prevail,  one  loud  tremendous  blow, 
The  monarch  prostrates,  and  his  pride  lays  Iottj 
While  the  low  reed,  in  far  more  humble  form, 
Unknown  to  greatness,  safe,  outlives  the  storm. 


The  storm  rages.  The  sturdy  oak, 
the  growth  of  centuries,  lifts  its  proud 
head  towering  to  the  heavens;  it 
spreads  abroad  its  ample  branches, 
giving  shelter  to  birds  and  beasts. 
For  a  long  time  it  resists  the  furv  of 
the  hurricane,  but  'tis  all  in  vain; 
with  a  mighty  crash  it  is  overturned; 
its  very  roots  are  laid  bare;  its  branch- 
7 


ing  honors  are  brought  low;  birds, 
beasts,  and  creeping  reptiles  now 
trample  upon  its  fallen  greatness. 

But  see ;  the  humble  reed,  bending 
to  the  storm,  escapes  unhurt.  Its 
lowly  position  has  preserved  it  from 
destruction ;  while  its  mighty  neigh- 
bor is  no  more.  It  still  lives,  and 
grows,  and  flourishes. 


98 


EELIGIOUS    EMBLEMS. 


This  is  an  apt  emblem  of  the  dan- 
ger attending  upon  high  stations,  and 
of  the  security  afforded  in  the  less 
elevated  walks  of  life.  It  is  calcu- 
lated to  damp  the  ardor  of  ambition, 
of  at  least  that  ambition  that  seeks 
to  be  great  only  that  self  may  be  en- 
riched, or  vanity  gratified. 

This  kind  of  greatness  is,  indeed, 
the  most  dangerous,  and  the  most  un- 
certain. It  is  sure  to  be  a  mark  for 
others,  equally  aspiring  and  unprin- 
cipled, to  shoot  at;  while  the  posses- 
sor of  this  greatness,  not  being  pro- 
tected by  the  shield  of  conscious  in- 
tegrity, falls  to  rise  no  more,  and  the 
flatterers  and  dependents  being  no 
longer  able  to  enrich  themselves, 
unite  in  trampling  under  foot  the 
man  they  formerly  delighted  to  honor. 

Love  is  not  an  evil  of  itself,  neither 
is  ambition ;  they  may  both  be  ex- 
pended on  worthless  or  sinful  objects. 
Let  the  youth  seek  out  a  proper  ob- 
ject for  the  lofty  aspirings  of  the 
soul ;  let  him  learn  to  direct  them  by 
the  providence  and  word  of  God. 
True  greatness  consists  in  goodness; 
in  being  useful  to  mankind.  Those 
individuals  usually  called  great  have 
been  the  destroyers,  not  the  benefac- 
tors of  our  race.  A  private  station  is 
as  much  a  post  of  honor  as  the  most 
elevated.  Indeed,  properly  speaking, 
there  are  no  private  stations;  every 
man  is  a  public  man,  and  equally  in- 
terested with  others  in  the  welfare 
and  progress  of  his  fellows.  The 
lowly  reed  is  as  perfect  in  its  kind  as 
the  lofty  oak,  and  answers  equally 
tlie  end  of  its  creation. 

It  is  true,  however,  that  the  more 


elevated  the  station  a  man  holds  in 
society,  the  more  responsibility  he  is 
under  both  to  God  and  man.  He  is 
also  exposed  to  more  dangers  and 
temptations.  Envy,  that  hates  the 
excellence  she  can  not  reach,  will 
carp  at  him,  and  slander  shoot  her 
poisoned  arrows  at  him.  Happiness 
seldom  dwells  with  greatness,  nor  is 
safety  the  child  of  wealth  and  hon- 
ors. "But  he  that  humbleth  him- 
self— in  due  time — shall  be  exalted." 

A  striking  instance  of  the  danger  of  great- 
ness may  be  found  in  the  fall  of  Cardinal 
Wolsey.  This  ambitious  man  lived  in  the 
reign  of  Henry  VIII,  king  of  England.  He 
was  that  monarch's  favorite  minister.  He  is 
said  to  have  been  "  insatiable  in  his  acquisi- 
tions, but  still  more  magnificent  in  his  ex- 
penses ;  of  great  capacity,  but  still  more  un- 
bounded in  enterprise;  ambitious  of  power, 
but  still  more  ambitious  of  glory."  He  suc- 
ceeded— he  was  raised  to  the  highest  pinnacle; 
but  he  fell  under  the  displeasure  of  the  king. 
The  inventory  of  his  goods  being  taken,  they 
were  found  to  exceed  the  most  extravagant 
surmises.  Of  fine  holland,  there  were  found 
eleven  hundred  pieces;  the  walls  of  his  palace 
were  covered  with  cloth  of  gold  and  silver;  he 
had  a  cupboard  of  plate,  all  of  massy  gold ; 
and  all  the  rest  of  his  riches  and  furniture 
were  in  the  same  proportion,  all  of  which 
were  converted  to  the  use  of  the  king.  A  bill 
of  indictment  was  preferred  against  him ;  he 
was  ordered  to  resign  the  great  seal,  and  to 
depart  from  his  palace.  Soon  after,  he  was 
arrested  for  high  treason,  and  commanded  to 
be  conducted  to  London  to  take  his  trial. 

When  he  arrived  at  Leicester  Abbey,  he  was 
taken  sick — men  said  he  poisoned  himself. 
His  disorder  increased.  A  short  time  before 
he  expired,  he  said  to  the  officer  who  guarded 
him:  "  O,  had  I  but  served  my  God  as  faith- 
fully as  I  have  served  my  king,  he  would  not 
have  forsaken  me  in  my  gray  hairs."  He  died 
shortly  after,  in  all  the  pangs  of  remorse,  and 
left  a  life  rendered  miserable  by  his  unbounded 
ambition  for  greatness. 


KELIGIOUS    EMBLEMS. 


99 


1  THESSAL'NS, 
Chap,  v: 


2  KINGS, 
Chap,  ix: 
verse  31. 


PEOVERBS, 

Chap,  xxviii: 

verse  1. 


ISAIAH, 

Chap.  Ivii: 
verse  20. 


PROYEEBS, 
Chap,  x: 
verse  24. 


ISAIAH, 

Chap,  xlviii; 
verse  22. 


1  PETER, 

Chap,  iii: 
verse  12. 


ISAIAH, 

Chap,  iii: 
verse  11. 


GUILT. 

For  every  one  that  docth  evil  hateth  the  light.     John,  iii:  20. 


liT  splendor  rising,  view  "  the  king  of  daj'," 
And  darkness  chasing  from  the  earth  away; 
The  beast  of  prey  escapes  before  the  sun, 
To  thickest  covert,  ere  his  work  is  done; 
The  birds  of  night  now  flee  away  apace, 
And  hide  securely  in  some  gloomy  place; 
While  the  blithe  lark,  elate   pours  forth  its  lays, 


And  warbles  to  the  sun  its  notes  of  pi-aise. 
So  guilty  men  pursue  in  devilish  mood, 
The  trade  of  plunder,  and  the  deed  of  blood; 
They  work  in  darkness  without  shame  or  fear, 
And  skulk  in  darkness  when  the  day  draws  near; 
While  conscious  innocence  walks  forth  uj^right, 
And,  like  the  lark,  rejoices  in  the  light. 


See  where  the  glorious  sun  is  ris- 
ing in  majesty  and  strength.  Dark- 
ness has  fled  from  his  presence,  and 
now  there  is  nothing  hid  from  his 
rosy  light.  See  the  beast  of  prey, 
slinking  off  to  his  den.  Stung  with 
hunger,  and  athirst  fQr  blood,  he 
roamed  round  in  the  darkness  of 
mght.  Lighting  upon  a  sheep  cote, 
he  breaks  into  the  inclosure;  the 
bleating,   helpless   lambs  become  his 


prey;  some  he  devours,  others  he 
leaves  mangled  and  torn  upon  the 
ground.  Detected  by  the  light,  he 
sneaks  away;  he  plunges  into  the 
forest,  and  hides  him  in  its  thickest 
shade. 

The  birds  of  night — the  bat,  and 
others — fly  away  before  the  rising  sun. 
The  music  of  the  awakening  choir, 
blooming  fields,  and  spicy  gardens, 
possess  no  charms  for  them.     Mold- 


100 


EELIGIOUS    EMBLEMS. 


ering  ruins,  among  thickest  shades, 
where  the  toad  finds  a  shelter,  and 
the  serpent  hisses — this  is  their  favor- 
ite dwelling-place;  while  the  gay  lark, 
high  mounting,  pours  forth  his  praises 
to  the  solar  king.  He  is  gladdened 
by  his  beams,  and  welcomes  his  ajD- 
proach  with  all  the  melody  of  song. 

"Thou,  O  Lord,  makest  darkness, 
and  it  is  night,  wherein  all  the  beasts 
of  the  forest  do  creep  forth.  The 
sun  ariseth ;  they  gather  themselves 
too-ether,  and  lay  them  down  in  their 
de^is." 

The  engraving  is  emblematical  of 
guilt;  for  happy  would  it  be  for  man- 
kind, were  the  beasts  of  prey  and 
birds  of  night  the  only  disturbers  of 
the  world's  repose — the  only  destroy- 
ers that  walk  abroad  in  darkness. 
Alas! 

*' When  night 


Darkens  the  streets,  then  wander  forth  the  sons 
Of  Belial,  tiowu  with  insolence  and  wine." 

Then,  too,  the  robber  goes  forth  to 
perpetrate  his  deeds  of  violence  and 
rapine;  then,  too,  the  adulterer,  and 
kindles  a  fire  that  will  burn  to  the 
lowest  hell;  and  shrouded  in  the 
mantel  of  night,  the  man  of  blood 
stalks  forth,  and  works  his  deeds  of 
death. 

In  this  way,  man,  made  in  the  im- 
age of  God,  becomes  allied  to  the 
most  malignant  part  of  the  brute 
creation,  companions  and  co-workers 
with  them.  What  degradation!  Alas, 
alas!  how  are  the  mighty  fallen! 

Look  again  at  the  folly  and  igno- 


rance of  wicked  men  in  supposing 
themselves  concealed  because  they  can 
not  see.  It  is  related  of  the  ostrich, 
that  she  covers  her  head  only  with 
reeds,  and  because  she  can  not  see 
herself,  thinks  she  is  hid  from  the 
eye  of  her  pursuers.  Thus  it  is  with 
the  workers  of  iniquity  in  the  night- 
time; they  may  indeed  be  hid  from 
the  sleeping  eyes  of  mortals,  but  the 
ever- wakeful  eye  of  Jehovah  looks 
full  upon  them.  When  they  say, 
"  Surely  the  darkness  shall  cover  me," 
even  then  "the  night  is  light"  all 
around  them.  "Clouds  and  darkness 
are  round  about  Him;"  they  are  Je- 
hovah's habitation,  therefore  what  is 
mistaken  for  a  covering  is  the  pres- 
ence-chamber of  the  Holy  God,  who 
"  compasseth  thy  path,  and  thy  lying 
down,  and  who  is  acquainted  with  all 
ways." 

"Every  one  that  doeth  evil  hateth 
the  light,  neither  cometh  to  the  ligbt, 
lest  his  deeds  should  be  reproved. 
But  he  that  doeth  truth,  cometh  to 
the  light,  that  his  deeds  may  be  made 
manifest,  that  they  are  wrought  in 
God." 

"  When  men  of  mischief  rise 

In  secret  'gainst  the  skies, 
Thy  hand  shall  sweep  them  to  the  grave; 

And  oh !  beyond  the  tomb, 

How  dreadful  is  their  doom. 
Where  not  a  hand  is  reached  to  sive!" 


"  His  enemies,  with  sore  dismay, 
Fly  from  the  light,  and  shun  the  day: 
Then  lift  your  heads,  ye  saints,  on  high. 
And  sing,  for  your  redemption's  nigh." 


EELIGIOUS    EMBLEMS. 


101 


LUKE, 

Chap,  xxi: 
verse  19. 


JAMES, 
Chap,  v: 

verse  7. 


JAMES, 
Chap,  v: 
verse  10. 


HEBEEWS, 

Chap,  xii : 

verses  1,  2. 


JAMES, 

Chap,  i : 

verses  2,  3,  4. 


MATTHEW, 

Chap,  xviii: 
verse  22. 


ROMANS, 
Chap,  v: 
verse  3. 


2  PETER, 
Cliap.  i; 
verse   6. 


PATIEITCE  AND   LONG-SUFFERING. 

Be  patient  in  tribulation.  Roin.  xii:  12. An  example  of  suf- 
fering, ajiiction,  and  patience.  Behold^  we  count  them  happy  who 
endure.     James,  y ;  10,  11. 


With  sore  afflictions,  and  with  injuries  too, 
One  deeply-loaded,  in  the  picture  view; 
Above,  beneath,  and  reigning  all  around, 
Trouble,  and  chains,  and  slanderous  foes  are  found; 
Her  own  sweet  home  no  more  a  shelter  stands, 
Consumed  by  fire,  it  falls  by  cruel  hands : 


Amid  this  widely-devastating  stroke, 
No  cry  is  heard,  no  voice  of  murmur  spoke, 
Like  the  mild  lamb  that  crouches  by  her  side, 
She  bears  with  meekness  all  that  may  betide; 
She  leans  on  Hope,  and  upward  casts  her  eyes. 
Expecting  succor  from  the  distant  skies. 


The  above  engraving  represents  a 
female  loaded  with  a  heavy  burden 
of  afflictions  and  injuries;  fast  bound 
by  chains  and  fetters  of  iron,  she  is 
unable  to  help  herself.  Before  her 
lie  whips,  chains,  and  slanders;  be- 
hind, her  house,  her  only  asylum,  is 
on  fire ;  ignited  by  wicked  hands,  it 
falls  a  prey  to  the  devouring  flames; 
while  the  barking:  cur  assails  her  with 


all  his  spite.  In  the  midst  of  her 
wide-spread  calamit}^  she  murmurs 
not,  she  makes  no  complaint.  Like 
the  innocent  lamb  at  her  side,  she 
bears  all  without  repining.  She  leans 
on  the  anchor  of  hope,  and  looks  up- 
ward. 

This  is  an  emblem  of  Patience  and 
Long-suffering.  The  figure  represents 
one  who  is  oppressed  with  manifold 


102 


EELIGIOUS    EMBLEMS. 


wrongs,  upon  whose  shoulders  is  laid 
a  heavy  burden  of  g-rievous  outrages, 
and  who  is  incapacitated,  by  the  force 
of  circumstances,  from  extricating 
herself;  at  the  same  time,  she  discov- 
ers that  she  has  not  yet  drank  the 
full  cup  of  her  woes.  Other  evils  lie' 
in  prospect  before  her. 

One,  who,  instead  of  receiving  the 
commiseration  and  assistance  of  her 
neighbors  in  the  season  of  adversity, 
is  assailed  with  the  venom  of  the 
slanderer,  the  malice  of  the  back- 
biter, and  the  wickedness  of  the  in- 
cendiary; but  who,  in  the  midst  of 
her  sufferings,  refuses  to  complain. 
Though  cast  down,  persecuted,  and 
perplexed,  she  yields  not  in  despair. 
With  lamb-like  meekness,  she  arras 
her  breast,  and  possesses  her  soul  in 
patience.  All  sustaining  hope  im- 
parts new  strength  to  her  spirits; 
she  commits  herself  to  God,  who 
judgeth  righteously'-;  and  looking  to 
God  for  grace  to  enable  her  to  en- 
dure till  he  shall  send  deliverance, 
calmly  awaits  the  issue. 

Wicked  and  unreasonable  men 
abound  in  the  world,  and  the  path  of 
duty  is  often  beset  with  present  difficul- 
ties and  dangers;  yet  it  ends  where  all 
/s  easy  and  delightful.  Let  no  one 
recede  from  the  path  of  duty,  nor 
tamely  yield  to  despair.  We  may  be 
tempted  to  flee,  like  the  prophet 
Jonah,  from  our  proper  work;  like 
Joshua,  we  may  throw  ourselves  on 
the  ground,  and  exclaim,  despond- 
ingly,  "Alas,  O  Lord  God!"  Like 
David,  we  may  say,  "I  shall  perish 
by  the  hand  of  Saul;"  or  like  Elijah, 
the  fearless  advocate  of  truth,  say 
inquiringly,  "  What  good  shall  my 
life  do  me?"     Yet  let  us  remember 


that  "light  is  sown  for  the  right- 
eous." The  seed  of  deliverance  is 
already  in  the  ground;  the  crop  is 
not  far  distant;  we  shall  reap  if  we 
faint  not. 

The  conduct  of  Job  affords  the 
most  perfect  example  of  patience. 
Despoiled  of  his  worldly  property, 
his  children  taken  from  him  at  a 
stroke,  his  body  tormented  with  one 
of  the  most  painful  and  loathsome 
diseases,  distressed  by  the  foolish  in- 
fidelity of  his  wife,  and  slandered  by 
his  professed  friends;  yet  his  patient 
soul  triumphed  over  all.  Still  cling- 
ing to  God,  his  Rock,  he  exclaimed, 
exultingly,  "  Though  be  slay  me,  yet 
will  I  trust  in  him.  The  Lord  gave, 
and  the  Lord  hath  taken  away;  bless- 
ed be  the  name  of  the  Lord." 

In  3^our  patience,  possess  ye  your 

souls.     Luke,xxi:  19. Be  patient, 

brethren,  unto  the  coming  of  the 
Lord.     James,  v  :  7. 

Take,  my  brethren,  the  prophets, 
who  have  spoken  in  the  name  of  the 
Lord,  for  an  example  of  suffering  af- 
fliction and  of  patience.  James,  v: 
10. 

Let  us  run  with  patience  the  race 
set  before  us;  looking  unto  Jesus,  the 
author  and  flnisherof  our  faith;  who, 
for  the  joy  that  was  set  before  him, 
endured  the  cross,  despising  the 
shame,  and  is  set  down  at  the  right 
hand  of  the  throne  of  God.  Heh. 
xii:  1,  2. 

My  brethren,  count  it  all  joy  when 
ye  fall  into  divers  temptations;. know- 
ing this,  that  the  trying  of  your  faith 
worketh  patience.  But  let  patience 
have  her  perfect  work,  that  ye  may 
be  perfect  and  entire,  wanting  nothing. 
James t  i:  2,  3,  4. 


EELIGIOUS    EMBLEMS, 


103 


MATTHEW, 

Chap,  xxvi : 

verse  41. 


1  TIMOTHY, 

Chap,  vi: 
verse  9. 


JAMES, 
Chap,  i : 
verse  12. 


HEBREWS, 
Chap,  iv : 
verse  15. 


1  JAMES, 
Cliap.  i: 
verse  14. 


PSALM 

cxix : 
verse  37. 


PEOYERBS, 

Chap,  xxiii: 

verse  31. 


PROYERBS, 
Chap,  v: 
verse  8. 


TEMPTATION". 

And  lead  us  not  into  temptation,  but  deliver  us  from  evil.     Matt. 
vi:  13. 


See  where  the  tree  its  richest  foliag:e  wears, 
And  golden  fruit  its  laden  branches  bears; 
Behold  concealed  beneath  its  shade  sidelong, 
The  glossy  serpent,  .with  his  poisonous  tongue; 
The  simple  boy,  far  from   his  father's  care, 
Is  well-nigh  taken  with  the  gilded  snare. 
The  tempting  fruit  outspread  before  his  eyes, 


Fills  him  with  rapture  and  complete  surprise; 

Nor  hidden  dangers  will  he  wait  to  see. 

But  onward  hastens  to  the  fatal  tree. 

His  father  sees  him,  and,  with  faltering  breath. 

Recalls  his  loved  one  from  the  brink  of  death; 

Nor  waits  reply,  but  on  the  spot  he  springs. 

And  saves  his  darling  from  the  serpent's  stings. 


The  tree  rich  in  foliage,  and  rich 
in  fruit,  spreads  out  its  delicious  pro- 
duce to  the  passer-by.  See  also  the 
subtile  serpent,  as  if  aware  of  the 
powerful  attractions  that  the  tree  af- 
fords, conceals  itself  underneath  its 
branches,  ready  to  sprins:  upon  the 
unwary  traveler.  That  little  boy  has 
been    in    great    danger;    he   left  the 


house,  and  wandered  on  till  he  came 
in  sight  of  the  tree;  the  fruit  attracted 
his  attention ;  he  stopped,  he  was  de- 
lighted with  its  appearance.  Thought- 
less of  danger,  he  was  just  going  to- 
pluck  and  eat,  when  the  voice  of  hiS' 
father  alarmed  him;  he  had  seen  his. 
danger.  In  another  moment  he  was 
on  the  spot,  and  seizing  him  by  the 


/ 


104 


EELIGIOUS   EMBLEMS. 


hand,  pointed  out  to  him  the  serpent, 
and  led  him  from  the  place  of  danger. 

This  is  an  emblem  of  Temptation; 
of  the  danger  to  which  youth  espe- 
cially are  exposed.  The  tree,  with  its 
rich  foliage  and  golden  fruit,  repre- 
sents those  things  that  are  objects  of 
temptation.  The  serpent  shows  the 
danger  that  invariably  attends  those 
objects  that  entice  to  sin.  The  artless 
boy  represents  the  simplicity  of  youth, 
who,  attracted  by  the  outside  appear- 
ance of  things,  consider  not  the  evil 
of  sinful  gratification.  The, anxious 
father  exhibits  the  ever-watchful  care 
of  our  Father  who  is  in  heaven  over 
his  children,  whom,  as  long  as  they 
confide  in  him,  he  will  deliver  from 
evil. 

This  emblem  sets  forth  also  some- 
what of  the  nature  of  temptation. 
Thus:  the  object  is  presented  to  the 
eye ;  the  mind  takes  pleasure  in  be- 
holding it;  then  the  loill  consents  to 
emtjrace  it.  "  Then  when  lust  hath 
conceived,  it  bringeth  forth  sin;  and 
sin,  when  it  is  finished,  bringeth  forth 
death." 

The  youthful  Joseph,  wdien  in  the 
house  of  Potiphar  the  Egyptian,  was 
assailed  by  temptation.  The  object 
was  presented  to  him  in  its  most  at- 
tractive form ;  while  master  of  him- 
self, he  fied  from  it,  and  escaped. 
His  memory  is  blessed. 

David,  king  of  Israel,  when  walk- 
ing upon  the  battlements,  beheld  a 
similar    object    of    temptation.       He 


looked  till  the  fire  of  lust  was  in  hia 
soul,  and  his  will  determined  upon 
possession.  Lust,  when  it  hath  con- 
ceived, bringeth  forth  sin;  sin,  when 
it  is  finished,  bringeth  forth  death. 
This  was  to  David  the  beginning  of 
sorrows. 

Temptation,  at  the  commencement, 
is  "like  the  thread  of  the  spider's 
web  ;  afterward,  it  is  like  a  cart-rope." 
The  poor  slave,  Joseph,  broke  the 
thread,  and  became  a  king,  nay, 
more  than  a  king;  while  the  king, 
David,  was  fast  bound  by  the  cart- 
rope,  and  became  a  slave. 

The  theater,  the  card-table,  the  in- 
toxicating cup,  the  painted  harlot,  are 
all  so  many  objects  of  powerful  temp- 
tation, under  which  lurks  the  serpent 
with  its  sting  of  death.  Fleeing  to 
God,  in  Christ,  by  earnest  prayer,  is 
the  only  way  of  escape  therefrom. 

"How  vain  are  all  things  here  below  I 
How  false,  and  yet  how  fair! 
Each  pleasure  hath  its  poison,  too^ 
And  every  sweet  as  snare. 

"  The  brightest  things  below  the  sky, 
Give  but  a  flattering  light; 
We  should  suspect  some  danger  nigh, 

Where  we  possess  delight. 
******* 

"  Sin  has  a  thousand  treacherous  arts 
To  practice  on  the  mind; 
With  flattering  looks  she-tempts  our  hearta^ 
But  leaves  a  sting  behind. 

"  She  pleads  for  all  the  joys  she  brings, 
And  gives  a  fair  pretense; 
But  cheats  the  soul  of  heavenly  things, 
And  chains  it  down  to  sense." 


EELIGIOUS    EMBLEMS. 


105 


PEOVERBS, 
Chap,  iv: 
verse  15. 


PROYERBS, 

Chap,  xiii: 

verse  16. 


HOSEA, 

Chap,  xiv: 
verse  9. 


PSALM 

cxii: 
Verse   5. 


PROYERBS, 

Chap,  i: 
verse  4. 


1  PETER, 

Chap,  v: 
verse  3. 


^-s-^y^  :«?■;- :i--t:>:7; 


MARK, 

Chaj).  xiii : 
verse  37. 


ephesia:n"s, 

Chap,  vi: 
verse  18. 


PRUDENCE  Am)   FORESIGHT. 


See  that  ye  loalk  circumspectly.     Eph. 
foreseeth  the  evil.     Prov.  xxii:  3. 


v:  15. 


-A  prudent  man 


Where  some  would  thouglitless  rush,  with  skip 

and  dance, 
See  Prudence  there  with  cautious  steps  advance: 
Behind,  the  faithful  mirror  briu^  to  view 
The  roaring  lion,  that  would  her  pursue; 
Before^  she  knows,  by  telescopic  glass. 


How  many  things  will  shortly  come  to  pass; 
Betimes,  concealed  where  fragrant  roses  hang, 
She  sees  the  serpent  with  his  poisoned  fang: 
And  thus  she  learns,  what  youth  should  always 

know. 
That  pleasures  oft  with  fatal  snares  may  grow. 


Prudence  is  here  seen  proceeding 
witli  slow  and  cautious  steps.  She 
has  in  her  right  hand  a  telescope,  by 
means  of  which  she  is  enabled  to 
bring  things  that  are  far  off  nigh  to 
view;  thus  she  sees  things  that  would 
otherwise  be  hidden  entirely  from  her 
sight;  while  other  things  are  magni- 
fied in  their  proportions,  so  that  she 
can  discern  their  nature  more  truly, 


'  and  thus  adapt  her  conduct  to  the 
,  circumstances  of  the  case.  In  this 
manner  she  applies  her  wisdom  to 
practice.  She  carries  also,  in  her 
left,  a  mirror,  by  wdiich  she  is  en- 
abled to  detect  objects  that  are  be- 
hind her.  A  lion  is  discovered  de- 
scending from  the  mountains,  luingry, 
and  ravening  for  its  prey.  ISTor  in 
her  attention   to   remoter   objects  is 


106 


EELIGIOUS    EMBLEMS. 


she  regardless  of  those  nigh  at  hand , 
she  espies  concealed  behind  a  rose- 
bush a  serpent ;  it  is  of  the  danger- 
ous kind.  Bj  her  timely  discovery, 
she  saves  herself  from  its  poisonous 
fangs 

This  is  an  emblem  of  Prudence ; 
for  what  is  prudence  but  wisdom  ap- 
plied to  practice?  AVisdom  enables 
us  to  determine  what  are  the  best 
ends,  likewise  what  are  the  best  means 
to  be  used  in  order  to  attain  those 
ends.  But  prudence  applies  all  this 
to  practice,  suiting  words  and  actions 
to  time,  place,  circumstance,  and  man- 
ner. 0  !  how  necessary  is  prudence 
for  the  purposes  of  the  present  life. 
Without  prudence,  the  mighty  become 
enfeebled,  the  wise  become  foolish, 
and  the  wealthy,  inhabitants  of  the 
poor-house. 

There  are  duties  to  be  done,  pleas- 
ures to  be  enjoyed,  dangers  to  be 
guarded  against,  all  of  which  can 
not  be  eifected  unless  prudence  guides 
the  helm.  Pleasures  and  dangers  are 
80  artfully  mingled  together,  as  the 
serpent  among  the  roses,  that  the  pru- 
dent only  can  possibly  detect  the  snare. 
The  youth  can  not  be  rich  in  experi- 
ence; still,  he  can  cultivate  prudence, 
which  will  beget  an  habitual  presence 
of  mind,  ever-watchful  and  awake. 
Misfortunes  are  common  to  all;  the 
prudent,  considering  that  he  is  not 
exempt  from  the  common  lot  of  mor- 
tals will  guard  against  them;  and,  as 
if  they  were  sure  to  come,  he  will 
prepare    himself    to    endure    them. 


Like  the  mariner,  who,  when  sailing 
in  windy  latitudes,  sweeps  the  hori- 
zon with  his  telescope  to  see  if  there 
are  signs  of  squalls;  toward  evening, 
he  shortens  sail,  sets  his  watch,  and 
keeps  a  good  look-out. 

Now,  if  prudence  is  so  necessary 
and  profitable  when  applied  to  the 
things  of  this  life,  it  is  much  more  so 
when  applied  to  the  life  which  is  to 
come,  because  the  soul  is  of  more 
value  than  the  body,  and  eternity  of 
more  importance  than  time.  Events 
not  contingent  but  certain  will  come 
upon  us,  against  which,  if  we  are 
prudent,  we  shall  provide  —  events 
solemn,  momeidous,  and  deeply  interest- 
ing. What  more  solemn  than  death? 
What  more  momentous  than  the  judg- 
ment to  come  ?  W^hat  more  interest- 
ing to  an  immortal  spirit  than  the 
final  issues  of  that  judgment?  Shall 
I  my  everlasting  days  with  fiends  or 
angels  spend?  "The  prudent  man 
foreseeth  the  evil,  and  hideth  him- 
self. The  simple  pass  on,  and  are 
punished." 

"  O  may  thy  Spirit  guide  my  feet 
In  ways  of  rigliteousness  ! 
Make  every  path  of  duty  straight 
And  plain  before  my  face. 

"My  watchful  enemies  combine 
To  tempt  my  feet  astray; 
They  Hatter  with  a  base  design 
To  make  my  soul  their  prey. 

"  Lord,  crush  the  serpent  in  tlie  dust, 
And  all  his  plots  destroy; 
While  those  that  in  thy  mercy  trust, 
Forever  shout  for  joy." 


EELIGIOUS    EMBLEMS 


107 


2  TIMOTHY, 

Chap,  ii: 
verse  3. 


GALATIANS, 

Chap.  V : 
verse  1. 


1  COEINTH'NS, 

Chap,  xiii:  ^fpflgfi**^ 

verse  7. 


EPHESIANS, 
Chap,  vi: 
verse  13. 


ACTS, 
Chap.  XX : 
verse  24. 


JOB, 

Chap,  xiii: 
verse  15. 


HEBEEWS, 

Chap,  iii: 
verse  6. 


1  COEmTH'NS, 

Chap.  XV : 
verse  58. 


FORTITUDE    AXD    COXSTA^CY. 

30. — 


The  righteous  shall  never  he  removed.     Prov.  x 
count  them  hafpy  who  endure.     James,  v :  11. 


-Behold,  we 


Aa  stands  the  pillar  on  the  solid  ground, 

Nor  heeds  the  tempest  that  prevails  around, 

Unmoved,  though  tempests  bluster  from  on  high, 

And  thunders  rolling  shake  tlie  trembling  sky : 

So  FortiUide  is  strong  in  Virtue's  cause, 

Nor  fears  contempt,  nor  covets  vain  applause; 


But  when  the  storms  of  evil  tongues  prevail, 
And  envy  rises  like  a  furious  gale, 
She  bears  on  high  her  ample  spotless  shield. 
Her  own  fair  fame,  and  still  disdains  to  yield: 
Enduring  greatly,  till  the  storm  is  gone, 
Then  sees  triumphant  that  her  cause  is  won. 


Behold  here  the  emblems  of  Fortl- 1 
tude    and     Constancy.       The    pillar  I 
stands  upright  amidst  the  storm,  and  | 
upright    in    the    midst   of   sunshine,  ' 
))earing  the  summer's  heat  and  win- 
ter's cold,  by  night  and  by  day;  still 
it  stands,  regardless  of  passing  events, 
and  answering  at  the  same  time  the  [ 
end  of  its  erection.     Thus  Constancy  I 
continues  at  the  post  of  duty.     For- 1 


titude  is  seen  standing  by  the  pillar 
of  Constancy.  See  how  she  braves 
the  fury  of  the  tempest!  Winds 
whistle,  thunders  roll,  and  night 
seems  gathering  together  a  magazine 
of  storms  to  let  loose  upon  her  head; 
yet  she  continues  at  the  post  ot  pa- 
tient endurance;  with  her  shield  she 
is  enabled  to  protect  herself  against 
all  the  storms  which  beat  around. 


108 


EELIGIOUS    EMBLEMS, 


Courage  resists  danger;  fortitude 
endures  pain,  either  of  the  body  or 
of  the  mind,  or  both.  True  fortitude 
is  always  connected  with  a  holy,  a 
righteous  cause.  Adversity,  or  op- 
position, is  the  test  of  fortitude  and 
constancy;  it  is  the  fiery  trial  which 
tries  the  virtuous;  they  come  out  of 
it  as  gold  seven  times  purified,  losing 
nothing  save  the  alloy.  Holiness  of 
character,  faith  in  God's  Word,  con- 
stitute the  shield  of  Fortitude,  and 
render  her  altogether  invulnerable. 

It  is  easy  for  a  man  to  profess  at- 
tachment to  a  good  cause  when  that 
cause  meets  with  the  general  appro- 
bation. It  is  an  easy  thing  to  boast 
of  virtue  that  has  never  been  tried  by 
temptation,  and  to  exult  in  fortitude 
that  has  never  Jiad  to  bear  the  storm 
of  opposition;  but  true  fortitude  is 
found  to  consist  in  supporting  evils 
with  resignation,  and  in  enduring 
opposition  with  resolution  and  dig- 
nity. "  He  that  loscth  wealth,"  say 
the  Spaniards,  "■  loseth  much ;  he  that 
loseth  his  friends,  loseth  more ;  but 
he  that  loseth  his  spirit,  loseth  all." 
The  man  of  fortitude,  strong  in  con- 
scious integrity,  and  in  the  knowledge 
of  the  right,  though  wealth  may  de- 
sert him,  though  his  friends  may  for- 
sake him  in  his  greatest  need,  yet  he 
possesses  his  soul  in  patience ;  he  rejoices 
that  his  soul  is  free.  The  cause  of 
truth  he  knows  can  never  fall.  This 
makes  him  magnanimous,  both  to  do 
and  to  dare. 


One  of  the  most  conspicuous  in- 
stances of  true  fortitude  is  found  in 
the  conduct  of  the  Apostle  Paul. 
After  having  for  some  time  served 
the  Church  at  Ephesus,  his  duty  called 
him  to  Jerusalem,  where  he  knew  he 
was  to  encounter  the  deadly  opposi- 
tion of  his  enemies.  Before  he  set 
out,  he  preached  his  farewell  sermon. 
The  people  were  greatly  afiected. 
The  thoughts  of  losing  their  beloved 
pastor,  and  of  the  dangers  that  awaited 
him,  melted  them  into  tears.  "  Thej 
all  wept  sore,  and  fell  on  Paul's  neck, 
and  kissed  him,  sorrowing  most  of 
all  for  the  words  which  he  spoke,  that 
they  should  see  his  face  no  more." 
These  circumstances  were  sufiicient 
to  have  overwhelmed  the  stoutest 
heart.  Paul's  repl}^  is  the  language 
of  true  fortitude-:  "  Bonds  and  afilic- 
tions  await  me ;  but  none  of  these  things 
move  me;  neither  count  I  my  life  dear 
unto  me,  so  that  I  may  finish  my 
course  with  joy." 

"  Beset  with  threatening  dangers  round, 
Firm  Fortitude  maintains  her  ground: 

Her  conscience  holds  her  courage  up. 
The  soul  that'  s  filled  with  virtue's  light, 
Shines  brightest  in  affliction's  night; 

And  sees  in  darkness  beams  of  hope. 

"  111  tidings  never  can  surprise 
That  heart,  that  fixed  on  God  relies; 

Though  waves  and  tempests  roar  around, 
Safe  on  the  rock  he  stands,  and  sees 
The  shipwreck  of  his  enemies, 

And  all  their  hope  and  glory  drowned." 


KELIGIOUS    EMBLEMS. 


109 


HEBEEWS, 
Chap,  vi: 
verse  19. 


MAEK, 

Chap,  xi: 
verse  22. 


1  PETEE, 
Chap,  i: 
verse  5. 


JAMES, 
Chap,  v: 
verse  15. 


EOMANS, 

Chap,  xii: 
verse  12. 


LAMENTA'NS, 

^g  Chap,  iii: 

verse  26. 


ACTS, 
Chap.  XX : 
verse  14. 


PSALM 

cxlv: 
verse  19. 


THE  FAST-AXCIIOliED   SHIP. 

Both   sure    and  steadfast.      Heb.  vi:    19. 


Lo  !  where  tlie  war-ship  with  her  tattered  sail, 
Tho'  late  escaped  the  fury  of  the  gale; 
At  anchor  safe  within  the  bay  she  rides; 
Nor  heeds  the  danger  of  the  swelling  tides: 
Though  high  aloft  the  furious  storm  still  roars, 
Below,  she  s  sheltered  by  the  winding  shores. 
The  church  of  Christ  a  war-ship  is  below, 


She  spreads  her  sails  to  meet  her  haughty  foe; 
Satan  assails  her  with  his  fhrious  blasts. 
Her  sails  are  riven,  broken  are  her  masts. 
A  night  of  darkness  finds  her  in  some  bay, 
She  drops  her  anchors,  and  awaits  the  day; 
Faith,  Hope,  and  Pnii/er,  her  anchors  prove, 
With  Resignation  to  the  powers  above. 


This  engraving  represents  a  ship 
riding  by  four  anchors.  To  escape 
the  rage  of  the  storm  at  sea,  she  has 
sought  shelter  in  the  bay.  Her  sails 
are  torn,  and  cordage  damaged;  she 
needs  to  undergo  repairs.  The  gale 
still  howls  fearfully  overhead;  but 
protected  by  the  land,  she  rides  com- 
paratively in  smooth  water. 

The  Church  of  God  may  be  com- 


pared to  n  ship,  and  to  a  ship  ot  war, 
built  by  the  great  Architect  who  made 
heaven  and  earth — first  launched  when 
Adam  fell  overboard — chartered  by  di- 
vine love  to  take  him  in,  with  all  his 
believing  posterity,  and  convey  them 
to  the  port  of  glory. 

Jehovah  is  her  rightful  owner;  Im- 
manuel  is  her  captain ;  the  Holy  Spirit 
is  her  pilot;  the  Holy  Bible  is  both 


110 


EELIGIOUS    EMBLEMS. 


chart  and  compass;  self-examination 
is  her  log-book;  her  pole-star  is  the 
star  of  Bethlehem.  Under  her  great 
Captain,  the  ministers  of  religion  take 
rank  as  officers;  besides  whom,  there 
are  a  number  of  petty  officers.  Her 
crew  consists  of  all  those  who  "fol- 
low the  Captain."  Passengers,  she 
carries  none — all  on  board  are  "  work- 
ing hands." 

This  world  is  the  tempestuous  sea 
over  which  she  makes  her  voyages. 
It  is  a  dangerous  sea ;  rocks,  shoals,  and 
quicksands  hide  their  deceitful  heads 
beneath  its  dark  blue  waves;  mount- 
ainous billows  roll,  furious  storms 
descend,  and  treacherous  whirlpools 
entice  only  to  destroy. 

The  voyage  is  from  time  to  eter- 
nity. The  good  ship  never  puts  back ; 
well  stocked,  she  carries  bread  of  life, 
and  waters  of  salvation,  in  abundance ; 
no  "  southerly  wind"  ever  afflicts  her. 
The  Church  is  a  ship  of  war;  she 
carries  a  commission  authorizing  her 
to  "sink,  burn,  and  destroy"  what- 
ever belongs  to  Beelzebub,  the  great 
enemy  of  mankind,  and  to  ship  hands 
in  every  quarter;  therefore  Beelzebub, 
being  a  "prince  of  the  power  of  the 
air,"  conies  out  against  her,  armed 
with  the  four  winds  of  heaven,  and 
attacks  her  as  he  did  the  house  of 
Job's  eldest  son. 

Bravely  does  she  behave  amid  the 
Btorm.     She  would  weather  the  gale, 


were  it  not  that  there  is  treachery  on 
board;  some  "Achan"  compels  her 
to  "about  ship."  She  runs  into  the 
bay  of  Promise,  and  casts  iirst  of  all 
the  anchor  of  Jlojye.  Though  "  per- 
plexed," she  is  "  not  in  despair." 
Hope  is  as  an  anchor  to  the  soul  in 
the  day  of  adversity.  Hope,  how- 
ever, is  not  sufficient ;  another  anchor 
divides  the  parting  wave,  even  that 
of  Faith.  Faith  takes  hold  of  the 
promises  made  to  the  Church  in  her 
times  of  trial,  especially  this  one: 
"  Call  upon  me  in  the  day  of  trouble, 
and  I  will  deliver  thee."  Prayer,  con- 
sequently, "is  let  go"  next.  Ah! 
now  she  "takes  hold  on  God;"  now 
the  vessel  rightens;  now  she  is  steady. 
JSTevertheless,  she  is  not  yet  delivered. 
What  more  can  she  do?  There  is 
yet  one  more  anchor  on  board :  Be- 
signation,  last  of  all,  is  received  by 
the  yielding  wave.  The  good  ship 
has  done  her  duty;  now  she  may  lie 
still,  and  wait  for  the  salvation  of  God. 
Soon  it  comes;  heavenly  breezes  fill 
her  flowing  sails ;  she  is  again  under 
weigh  for  the  jport  of  glory — 


"Where  all  the  ship's  company  meet 

Who  sailed  with  their  Savior  beneath; 
With  shouting,  each  other  they  greet, 

And  triumph  o'er  trouble  and  death. 
The  voyage  of  life's  at  an  end, 

The  mortal  affliction  is  past. 
The  age  that  in  heaven  they  spend, 

Forever  and  ever  shall  last." 


EELIGIOUS    EKBLEMS, 


111 


PSALM 
cxxxiii : 
verse  1. 


-W.5=-«_=r^' 


ACTS, 
Chap,  i: 
verse  14. 


EPHESIANS, 
Chaj).  iv: 
verse  13. 


COLOSSIANS, 
Chap,  ii : 
verse  2. 


r  PETEB, 

Chap,  iii: 
verse  8. 


1  JOHN, 
Chap,  i: 
verse  3. 


EPHESIANS, 

Chap,  iv: 

verse  5. 


JOHN, 

Chap,  xvii; 

verse  23. 


UNANIMITY. 

Endeavoring  to  keep  the  unity  of  the  Spirit.     JEph. 
ice,  being  many,  are  one  body  in  Christ.     Rom.  xii: 


IV : 
5. 


•So 


Look!  where  the  soldiers  form  a  hollow  square, 

And  thus  the  fortunes  of  the  day  repair; 

On  every  side  a  bristling  front  present, 

On  which  the  fury  of  the  foe  is  spent; 

"Union  is  strength" — 'gainst  odds  they  win  the 

day, 
And  proud  their  banners  o'er  the  field  display : 
The  camp,  the  Christian  Church  may  sometimes 

teach, 
To  gain  a  triumph,  or  to  mount  a  breach: 
So  when  the  armies  of  the  cross  unite, 
They  quickly  put  the  alien  foe  to  flight; 


When,  up  and  doing,  united  and  awake. 

They  drive  back  Satan,  and  his  kingdom  shake; 

The  standard-bearer  with  his  brethren  stands. 

By  love  united.     Love  binds  hearts  and  bands, 

The  ilag  of  Jesus  high  aloft  he  hears, 

That  tells  of  victories  won,  by  groans  and  tears; 

Of  future  victories,  too,  this  is  the  sign, 

When  all  the  kingdoms,  Savior,  shall  be  thine; 

Then  let  the  heroes  of  the  cross  imile,  \ 

And  quickly  put  the  alien  foes  to  flight ;        V 

And  win  the  world  in  great  Messiah's  right.  J 


The  soldiers  are  here  seen  formed 
into  what  is  termed  a  liollow  square. 
They  h^ive  been  well-nigh  beaten  on 
the  field  of  battle;  this  position  is 
resorted  to  as  a  last  eftbrt;  on  every 
side  they  present  an  array  of  glitter- 


ing arms.  The  foe  advances;  still 
they  stand  their  ground;  they  repel 
the  onset;  they  change  the  fortunes 
of  the  day.  By  union,  they  rout  the 
enemy,  and  gain  a  complete  victory. 
Behold,    says    the    Psalmist,    how 


112 


EELIGiOUS    EMBLEMS, 


good,  and  how  pleasant  it  is  for 
brethren  to  dwell  together  in  unity. 
It  is  not  only  good  and  pleasant,  but 
essential  to  success.  Christians  have 
a  work  to  do — a  great  work.  Union 
is  strength  in  religious  warfare,  as 
well  as  in  military  tactics.  "United, 
we  stand,  divided  we  fall."  It  is  a 
part  of  the  plans  of  military  com- 
manders to  divide  the  forces  of  the 
enemy,  both  in  the  council  and  in  the 
field ;  so  likewise  it  is  the  plan  of  the 
grand  adversary  of  souls  to  divide 
Christians.  The  great  Head  of  the 
Church  has  provided  a  principle 
which  binds,  nourishes,  and  consoli- 
dates the  various  members  of  the 
body  together ;  for  we  are  all  mem- 
bers one  of  another.  If  this  principle 
is  neglected,  the  army  of  the  cross 
becomes  easily  dispersed.  The  prin- 
ciple is  Love. 

An  aged  father,  when  dying,  called 
his  sons  around  his  dying  bed,  and 
in  order  to  show  them  the  necessity 
of  union  among  themselves,  he  com- 
manded a  bundle  of  sticks,  which  he 
had  provided,  to  be  brought  before 


him.  Beginning  with  the  eldest,  he 
requested  him  to  break  the  bundle; 
he  could  not.  The  next  was  called, 
and  so  on  down  to  the  youngest;  all 
failed,  upon  which  the  old  man  cut 
the  cord  which  bound  them  together, 
and  they  were  easily  broken  one  by 
one.  Love  is  the  cord  that  binds  to- 
gether. Union  alone  supplies  the 
lack  of  numbers,  of  talents,  and  of 
wealth.  The  minister  of  the  gospel 
is  the  standard-bearer  in  the  Chris- 
tian army;  the  membership  are  the 
soldiers  of  Jesus.  If  every  soldier 
rallies  round  the  standard,  and  all  are 
determined  to  conquer  or  die,  nothing 
can  stand  before  them;  they  would 
drive  back  the  powers  of  darkness, 
and  make  Apollyon  fly.  For  want 
of  union,  antichrist  and  infidelity  pre- 
vail, and  sinners  go  unreclaimed. 
"When  professing  Christians  cease  to 
vex  each  other,  and  turn  the  whole 
tide  of  their  strength  against  the 
common  foe,  the  kingdoms  of  this 
world  will  become  the  kingdoms  ot 
our  God,  and  of  his  Messiah,  and  he 
will  reign  forever  and  ever. 


THE   END. 


RELIGIOUS  ALLEGORIES: 


BEING  A  SERIES  OF 


EMBLEMATIC  ENGRAVINGS, 

WITH  WRITTEN  EXPLANATIONS,  MISCELLANEOUS  OBSERVATION'S 
AND  RELIGIOUS  REFLECTIONS, 

DESIGKBD 

TO  ILLUSTRATE  DIVINE  TRUTH, 

IN  ACCORDANCE  WITH  THE  CARDINAL  PRINCIPLES  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


"J  have  used  similitudes.'"     Hosea,  xii  :  10. 


BY    WILLIAM    HOLMES, 

MINISTER  OF  THE  GOSPEL;   AND 

JOHN   ^\.  BARBER, 

ADTHOB   OF   SEVERAL    HISTORICAL    AND    RELIGIOUS   WOEKS. 


BRADLEY,  GARRETSON   &   CO., 

PHILADELPHIA,     No.   66     NORTH     FOURTH    STREET, 

WILLIAM  GARRETSON  &  CO., 

GALESBURG,  ILL.,  COLUMBUS,  OHIO,  NASHVILLE,  TENN.,  HOUSTON,  TEXAS, 

SAN  FRANCISCO,  CAL. 

8  1875. 


JSntered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  mdccclxvi. 

By  JOHN  W.  BARBER, 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  Connecticut. 

fJntered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  mdcccxlviii. 
By  JOHN  W.  BARBER, 
In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  Connecticut. 


RELIGIOUS    ALLEGORIES. 


CONTENTS    OF   EELIGIOUS   ALLEGORIES. 


PACK 

Looking  unto  Jesus 7 

Walking  by  Faith 10 

The  Sure  Guide 13 

Charity,  or  Love 16 

Pride  and  Humility 19 

The  Sacrifice 22 

Ko  Cross,  No  Crown 25 

The  Life-boat ' 28 

Cbedience  and  Wisdom 31 

Danger  of  Presumption  34 

Decision  and  Perseverance 37 

Passion  and  Patience 40 

The  Conquering  Christian 43 

The  Imperial  Philanthropist 46 

The  Wintry  Atmosphere 49 

The  Protected  Traveler 52 

The  Pearl  of  Great  Price 55 

The  Great  Discovery 58 

Passage  through  the  Desert 61 

Selfishness 64 

The  Imperial  Passenger 67 

Venturing  by  Faith 70 

Path  of  Life  and  Way  of  Death 73 

Past,  Present,  Future 76 

Providence,  Time,  Eternity 79 

Triumph  of  Christianity 83 

(5) 


Religious   Allegories. 


HEBEEWS, 

Chap,  xii: 

verse  1. 


ISAIAH, 

Chap,   xlv 

verse  22. 


PSALM 

v: 
verse  3. 


I.  JOH^, 
Chap.  V : 
verse  5. 


PSALM 

cxli: 
verse  8. 


PEOVEEBS, 
Chap,  iv: 
verse  25. 


PSALM 

cxix: 
verse  37 


GALATIANS, 

Chap,  ii: 
verse  20. 


LOOKIiTG  UrsTTO  JESUS. 
Looking  unto  Jesus.     Hebrews  xii:  2. 


Amid  the  world's  vain  pleasures,  din,  and  strife, 
The  Christian  treads  the  upward  path  of  life; 
Though  sorely  tempted  to  forsake  the  way. 
He  presses  onward  still  from  day  to  day; 
On  worldly  honors  he  with  scorn  looks  down, 
t'ontent  if  he  at  last  shall  wear  a  crown; 
And  worldly  wealth  without  regret  he  leaves, 
He  treasure  has  beyond  the  reach  of  thieves. 


The  Siren  Pleasure  with  voluptuous  strain, 

Strives  to  ensnare  him,  but  she  strives  in   vain; 

His  ear  he  closes  to  their  idle  noise, 

And  hastens  upward  to  celestial  joys; 

At  God's  right  hand  he  owns  an  ample  store 

Of  joys  substantial,  lasting  evermore; 

He  looks  to  Jesus,  his  Almighty  Friend, 

Nor  fails  at  last  to  reach  his  journey's  end. 


The  Christian  is  here  depicted  mak- 
ing his  way  up  the  path  of  life.  The 
wealth  of  this  world  is   offered  to  him 


on  condition  that  he  will  tnrn  aside. 
He  rejects  the  offer  with  disdain;  he 
points  upward,  imitating  that  his  treaa- 

(7) 


EELIGIOUS    ALLEGOEIES 


ure  is  in  heaven.  Honors  are  presented ; 
these  he  desj^ises  also,  content  with  the 
honor  that  comes  from  God.  The  vo- 
taries of  sinful  pleasures  next  address 
him;  they  promise  all  sorts  of  delights 
if  he  would  stay  and  dwell  with  them. 
He  closes  his  ear  to  their  deceitful  song; 
he  looks  upward  to  Jesus  his  Lord  and 
his  God,  and  taking  up  the  song  of  an 
old  pilgrim  he  goes  on  his  way  sing- 
ing:^ 

"Thou  wilt  show  to  me  the  path  of  life, 
In  thy  presence  is  fullness  of  joy, 
Pleasures  at  thy  right  hand  for  evermore." 

But  what  will  not  men  in  general  do  in 
order  to  obtain  those  very  things  which 
the  Christian  rejects  with  so  much  dis- 
dain? What  have  they  not  done?  An- 
swer, ye  battle-fields  that  have  heard 
the  dying  groans  of  so  many  myriads ! 
Answer,  ye  death-beds  that  have  lis- 
tened to  the  lamentations  of  the  vota- 
ries of  pleasure !  Answer,  ye  habita- 
tions of  cruelty,  where  the  life's  blood 
of  the  victims  of  avarice  oozes  away 
from  day  to  day,  under  the  rod  of  the 
oppressor!  And  who  or  what  is  the 
Christian  that  these  things  have  no  in- 
fluence over  him?  Is  he  not  a  man? 
Yes;  an  altered  man  from  what  he  was 
once;  a  new  man.  Old  things  have 
passed  away.  All  things  have  become 
new.  He  looks  to  Jesus.  Here  is  where 
his  great  strength  lies.  Here  is  the 
power  by  which  he  overcometh  the 
world,  even  by  looking  to  Jesus.  Do 
you  ask  what  is  this  looking  to  Jesus  ? 
What  magic  is  there  in  this  so  power- 
ful? Listen!  Our  sins  have  separated 
us  from  God,  for  "all  have  sinned  and 
come  short  of  the  glory  of  God."  Death, 
temporal,  has  passed  upon  all  men,  as 
the  forerunner  of  eternal  death,  except 
we  repent  and  be  converted.  But  how 
shall  we  repent  and  be  converted? 
How  shall  we  guilty  ones  dare  to  ap- 
proach the  Holy  God?  He  is  of  purer 
eyes  than  to  behold  iniquity.  What 
shall  we  bring  to  gain  his  favor?    Alas, 


for  our  poverty  if  it  were  to  be  bought 
with  money!  Alas,  for  our  sinfulness 
if  our  own  righteousness  could  have  suf- 
ficed to  recommend  us  to  God  !  Alas, 
for  our  impotence  if  we  had  been  left 
unaided  to  descend  Bethesda's  Pool! 
Alas,  for  our  blindness  if  we  had  been 
left  to  ourselves  to  discover  a  door  of 
Hope. 

While  in  this  plight  Jesus  comes  to 
our  relief.  He  brings  a  price — a  right- 
eousness— a  strength — a  light.  He  is 
the  light  of  the  world — the  Sun  of 
righteousness.  He  shines  and  dispels 
the  gloom.  O,  how  cheering  are  his 
rays !  As  the  beams  of  the  morning 
give  hope  and  consolation  to  the  be- 
nighted traveler  in  some  dreary  wilder- 
ness, so  does  Jesus,  the  "day  spring 
from  on  high,"  give  light  and  hope 
to  those  who  sit  in  "darkness,  and  in 
the  shadow  of  -death."  The  light  of 
love  and  the  hope  of  heaven.  The 
path  of  duty  is  revealed,  the  promise 
of  immortality  is  given.  Do  you  ask 
yet  again,  what  is  meant  by  looking 
to  Jesus?  Again  listen.  The  exercise 
of  faith  in  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ.  This 
is  what  is  meant.  Man  is  made  capa- 
ble of  confidence  in  man.  In  this  con- 
sists the  charms  of  domestic  felicity. 
A  man  without  confidence  in  his  race 
is  an  isolated  being;  he  is  cut  off  from 
all  the  sympathies  of  his  kind.  Just 
so,  man  without  confidence  in  God,  is 
separated  from  him.  He  is  in  the 
world  without  God,  and  without  hope. 
Faith  unites  man  to  God.  The  Chris- 
tian is  a  man  of  faith.  He  is  united  to 
God;  he  walks  by  faith,  he  lives  by 
faith.  The  life  which  he  lives  is  a  life 
of  faith  in  the  Son  of  God  who  loved 
him,  and  gave  himself — O,  wondrous 
gift — for  him. 

He  looks  to  Jesus,  as  unto  an  "offering 
for  sin."  He  receives  it  as  a  faithful 
saying,  worthy  of  all  acceptation,  that 
"he  hath  made  him  who  knew  no  sin, 
to  be  a  sin-offering  for  us,  that  we 
might   be   made    the   righteousness  of 


EELIGIOUS    ALLEGORIES 


G-od  in  him."  That  ia,  that  we  might 
be  completely  saved  by  him.  This  is 
the  ground  of  his  rejoicing,  that  Jesus 
hath  made  "full,  perfect,  and  sufficient 
sacrifice,  oblation,  and  satisfaction  for 
the  sins  of  the  whole  world,"  since  "he 
by  the  grace  of  God  tasted  death  for 
every  man."  He  regards  his  sins  as 
being  of  such  a  natui'e  that  nothing 
but  the  "precious  blood  of  Christ" 
could  avail  to  purge  them  away.  Thus 
the  man  of  God  considers  Jesus.  He 
goes  from  strength  to  strength,  making 
mention  of  his  righteousness,  who  died 
for  his  sins,  and  rose  again  for  his  jus- 
tification. 

Such,  however,  is  man's  nature,  such 
are  his  wants,  trials,  and  destiny,  that 
the  Lord  Jesus  Christ  has,  for  his  sake, 
assumed  various  offices  and  titles.  Does 
mUn  feel  his  helplessness,  that  he  can 
not  of  himself  do  any  thing  that  is 
good,  he  is  invited  to  look  from  self 
to  Jesus  as  the  "Mighty  God."  Look 
unto  me,  and  be  ye  saved  all  ye  ends 
of  the  eai"th,  for  beside  me  there  is  no 
God.  While  others  look  at  their  own 
weakness,  at  the  difficulties  of  the  wa}^, 
at  the  strength  and  numbers  of  their 
foes,  the  man  of  faith  looks  from  these 
to  Jesus.  Is  he  tempted  to  think  that 
after  all  he  shall  never  see  the  King  in 
his  beauty?  He  may  look  to  Jesus  as 
his  "Advocate"  with  the  Father,  who 
takes  care  of  his  interest  in  the  court 
of  heaven,  and  who  is  no  less  watchful 
over  his  affaii's  below.  Does  he  need  a 
subject  calculated  to  fill  his  mind  with 
mean  ideas  of  self?  He  looks  to  Jesus 
aa  '■'■the  iconderful"  wondei"ful  indeed. 
God  made  man  for  man  to  die.  In  his 
birth,  in  his  life,  in  his  death,  in  his 
resurrection,  and  ascension.  He  is  won- 
derful! In  his  character,  in  his  opera- 
tions, both  of  nature  and  of  grace,  in 
drawing,  softening,  sanctifying,  and 
glorifying  the  believer,  he  is  wonderful! 
O,  the  depth  both  of  the  wisdom  and 
the  goodness  of  God! 


Does  he  find  the  affairs  of  earth  too 
intricate  for  him,  and  that  the  children 
of  this  world  are  wiser  in  their  genera- 
tion than  the  children  of  light?  He 
looks  to  Jesus  as  his  "Counselor"  who 
is  able  to  guide  the  feet  of  his  saints. 

In  the  time  of  trouble  the  Christian 
looks  to  his  counselor  and  finds  him  a 
"very  present  help,"  and  no  expensive 
charges,  or  ruinous  issues  follow.  He 
looks  to  Jesus  as  the  Author  or  Begin- 
ner of  Faith,  who  has  called  him  to  be 
a  Christian,  who  has  pointed  out  to 
him  the  proner  path  of  duty,  and  who 
will  at  last  award  to  him  a  crown  of 
righteousness. 

Painters,  sculptors,  and  others,  have, 
in  order  to  be  perfect  in  their  art,  stud- 
ied models  of  excellence.  The  Chris- 
tian studies  Jesus;  he  is  his  "model  "  or 
"examjDle."  Are  his  trials  many?  Is 
his  cross  heavy?  He  considers  Jesus 
who  "endured  the  cross  and  despised 
the  shame."  Is  he  poor?  "The  Son 
of  man  had  no  where  to  lay  his  head." 
Is  he  rich?  For  the  rich  are  also 
called;  he  considers  him  "who  was  rich, 
and  for  our  sakes  become  poor."  Is  he 
tempted  with  the  glories  of  the  present 
woxdd?  To  the  Savior  "all  the  king- 
doms of  this  world  and  the  glory  of 
them"  were  offered.  Is  he  persecuted? 
He  looks  to  Jesus  on  the  cross  and 
prays  "Father  forgive  them."  Thus 
he  looks  from  earthly  glory  to  that  far 
more  exceeding  and  eternal  weight  of 
glory.  From  earthly  possessions  to  that 
"  inhei'itance  that  fadeth  not  away,"  and 
from  earthly  pleasures  to  those  that 
are  spiritual  and  eternal.  Adopting 
the  language  of  the  poet,  he  looks  unto 
Jesus  as 

"His  all! 
His  theme,  hie  inspiration,  and  his  crown; 
His  strength  in  age,  his  rise  in  low  estate, 
His  soul's  ambition,  pleasure,  wealtli,  his  world; 
His  liglit  in  darkness,  and  his  life  in  death, 
Mis  boast  through  time,  bliss  through  eternity. 
Eternity  too  short  to  sing  his  praise." 


10 


EELIGIOUS    ALLEGOEIES. 


EOMANS, 
Chap.  X : 
verse  17. 


HEBEEWS, 

Chap,  xi: 
verses  8,  10 


PSALM 

Ixxiii : 

verse  24. 


HEBEEWS, 
Chap,  x: 
verse  38. 


JOB, 

Chap,  xiii 
verse  15. 


HEBEEWS, 

Chap,  xi : 
verse  6. 


PSALM 

xxiii : 
verse  4. 


PSALM 

cxxxviii : 
verse  7. 


WALKING  BY  FAITH. 

For  we  walk  hy  faith,  not  by  sight.     2  Cor.  7. 


The  convert  here  turns  on  the  world  his  back, 
And  walkij  by  faith  along  the  narrow  track; 
Before  him  mists  arise,  and  o'er  his  head 
Thick  clouds  of  darkness  roll,   and    round  him 
A  bottomless  abyss  beneath  extends,         [spread; 
And  still  new  danger  to  his  pathway  lends. 
While  ever  and  anon,  a  lurid  wreath 
Comes  rising  upward  from  the  pit  of  death. 
Though  all  around  him  spreads  the  gloom  of  night. 


His  footsteps  sparkle  with  a  brilliant  light ; 
His  Lamp— the  Book  of  God— doth  brightly  ohine, 
And  pours  upon  his  path  a  light  divine. 
Between  the  murky  columns  as  they  rise, 
Sometimes  he  sees  a  palace  in  the  skies; 
His  heart  is  cheered,  nor  death  nor  danger  dreads, 
While  circumspectly  on  his  way  he  treads. 
Thus,  step  by  step,  he  walks  the  narrow  road. 
Till  at  the  end  he  finds  himself  with  God. 


Here  is  depicted  a  man  just  starting 
from  what  appears  to  be  solid  ground, 
to  walk  upon  a  narrow  plank,  stretched 
across  a  deep  gulf,  and  which  ends  no- 
body knows  whither.  Before  him  thick 
clouds   of  mist   and  vapor  slowly  but 


continually  ascend  from  the  gulf  or 
pit;  rolling  clouds  of  pitchy  blackness 
also  ascend.  They  spread  themselves 
around  him;  in  wreathy  columns  they 
stand  before,  and  hide  the  future  from  his 
vision.     Still  he  proceeds;  he  is  a  won- 


EELIGIOUS    ALLEGOEIES 


11 


der  to  many,  who  can  not  tell  what  to 
make  of  it.  The  man  himself,  however, 
appears  to  know  very  well  what  he  is  do- 
ing. He  holds  in  his  hand  a  book,  which 
he  reads  as  he  goes  along;  though  it 
may  seem  to  some  unsafe,  yet  he  finds 
it  advantageous  rather  than  otherwise. 
The  book,  he  thinks,  throws  light  upon 
his  path;  now  and  then  the  wind 
blows  the  clouds'  of  smoke  a  little  on 
one  side,  and  ho  beholds,  apparently 
far  off  in  the  distance,  a  mansion;  this 
is  the  palace  he  has  heard  of;  it  is 
thither  the  way  leads,  thither  he  would 

go- 

The  sight  of  the  mansion  above, 
whenever  he  is  so  fortunate  as  to  be- 
hold it,  inspires  him  with  courage  and 
fortitude  ;  he  bears  cheerfully  his  pres- 
ent labors  and  sufferings,  and  meets, 
"Without  fear,  any  new  foe.  He  walks 
onward,  step  by  step,  looking  well  at 
his  footsteps;  at  last  arrives  at  the  end 
of  his  journey;  this  opens  ujion  him 
quite  abruptly.  Suddenly  he  beholds 
right  before  him  the  mansion  shining 
gloriously.  He  enters  —  he  is  made 
heartily  Avelcome — he  is  amply  repaid 
for  all  his  labors  and  sufferings. 

This  may  be  considered  as  an  alle- 
gorical representation  of  the  Christian 
walking  by  faith  through  this  world  to 
the  next;  the  young  Christian,  when 
he  embraces  Christ,  turns  his  back  upon 
the  world,  its  vanities,  and  sinful  pleas- 
ures. He  renounces  it  as  an  object  of 
trust  and  hope;  he  leads  a  new  life ;  he 
walks  a  new  path.  It  is  the  path  of 
Faith.  He  knows  not  what  is  before 
him  in  the  present  life,  whether  sick- 
ness or  health,  prosperity  or  adversity; 
clouds  of  darkness,  of  temptation,  and 
trouble  are  sometimes  made  to  arise  in 
his  path,  by  the  enemy  of  his  soul,  to 
discourage  him  in  the  way  he  has 
chosen.  Yet  he  pursues.  The  Word 
of  God  is  his  constant,  best  companion; 
it  is  a  light  unto  all  his  goings;  by  it 
he  cleanses  his  way;  though  it  occu- 
pies much  of  his  time,  so  that  many  think 


it  will  prove  his  ruin,  yet  he  finds  it 
exceedingly  helpful;  nay,  he  would  not 
be  without  it  for  all  the  world. 

In  the  midst  of  his  labors  and  suf- 
ferings, he  frequently  enjoj'S  rich  fore- 
tastes of  the  happiness  of  heaven  ;  these 
are  refreshing  to  his  soul,  strengthen- 
ing and  inspiring  him  with  zeal  for  the 
Lord  of  hosts.  His  light  afiiictions  he 
reckons  are  not  worthy  to  be  compared 
with  the  glory  of  which  he  has  had  an 
earnest.  Not  knowing  what  shall  be- 
fall him  from  hour  to  hour,  and  from 
day  to  day,  he  goes  forward  trusting 
in  God,  to  whom  he  has  committed  the 
keeping  of  all  his  concerns,  soul  and 
body,  for  time  and  eternity.  By  and 
by  he  finishes  his  course;  he  has  kept 
the  foith,  and  an  abundant  entrance 
is  administered  to  him  into  the  ever- 
lasting kingdom  of  Jesus  Christ.  The 
man  who  walks  by  sight,  looks  only  at 
the  things  which  are  seen,  and  which, 
of  course,  are  temporal.  He  looks  at 
and    regards    the    things    of    earth    as 

CD  O 

worthy  of  his  esteem,  of  his  love,  of 
his  labor,  of  his  sufferings ;  houses  and 
lands,  power  and  renown,  and  whatso- 
ever tends  to  supply  the  lust  of  the 
flesh,  the  lust  of  the  eye,  and  the  pride 
of  life — these  are  the  objects  to  which 
he  directs  all  his  prayers,  all  his  pur- 
poses, and  all  his  toils;  he  lives  for 
this,  and,  if  necessary,  he  will  die  for  it. 

He  puts  faith  in  nobody.  He  will 
have  bonds,  and  seals,  and  witnesses 
for  all  and  in  all  his  transactions.  He 
will  not  trust  the  Almighty  with  any 
of  his  concerns,  but  manages  them  all 
himself  He  asks  no  favors  at  his 
hands ;  if,  indeed,  he  does,  at  any  time 
put  up  a  petition  to  God,  it  is  that  he 
will  ask  nothing  of  him. 

How  different  with  the  man  of  Faith. 
He  sees  the  things  of  earth  and  knows 
their  value.  It  is  enough  for  him  that 
they  are  temporal.  He  values  them 
simply  as  they  bear  upon  Eternity. 
He  looks  at  the  things  that  are  not 
seen,  which  are  eternal;   his  soul,  and. 


12 


EELIGIOUS    ALLEGOEIES, 


whatever  tends  to  inform  and  purify 
it ;  his  Savior,  and  whatever  will  ad- 
vance his  cause  on  the  earth ;  his  God, 
and  what  will  glorify  him;  Heaven, 
and  whatever  will  help  him  on  his  way 
thither;  Hell,  and  what  will  enable 
him  to  escape  it.  He  looks  at  man  as 
a  fellow-traveler  to  Eternity,  to  the 
Judgment,  puts  a  generous  confidence 
in  him,  and  labors  to  benefit  him  tem- 
porarily and  spiritually.  His  thoughts, 
his  words,  his  actions,  are  all  regulated 
according  to  his  eternal  interest.  A 
man  must  live  before  he  can  walk.  So 
it  is  spiritually.  He  lives  a  life  of 
faith  in  the  Son  of  God.  Hence  it  is 
not  difficult  to  walk  by  faith.  He  is 
but  a  sojourner  here.  His  citizenship 
is  in  heaven.  He  is  a  denizen  of  im- 
mortality.    Hence  to  him 

"Faith  lends  its  realizing  light, 
The  clouds  disperse,  the  shadows  fly; 
The  Invisible  appears  in  siglit, 
And  God  is  seen  by  mortal  eye; 
The  things  unknown  to  feeble  sense, 
Unseen  by  reason's  glimmering  ray, 
With  strong  commanding  evidence, 
Their  heavenly  origin  display." 

Faith  is  the  foundation  of  things 
lioped  for,  the  conviction  of  things  not 
seen.  Faith  becomes  a  foundation  on 
which  Hope  builds  her  glorious  temple 
of  future  happiness.  The  spies  who 
brought  an  evil  report  of  the  land  of 
Promise,  walked  by  sight.  They  saw 
nothing  besides  the  high  walls,  the  num- 
ber of  inhabitants,  the  gigantic  Ani- 
kim.  Not  80  Joshua  and  Caleb.  They 
saw  only  the  promise,  and  the  power 
of  Jehovah,  which  they  believed  was 
sufficient  to  bring  it  to  pass.  While 
the  former  perished  with  those  who 
believed  not,  they,  walking  by  Faith, 
entered  the  goodly  land  and  possessed 
it  for  an  inheritance  forever. 

In  the  days  of  the  Eedeemer,  there 
were  some  who  saw  only  the  Babe  of 
Bethlehem,    the   Carpenter's    Son,    the 


Nazarene,  the  man  of  sorrows,  the 
crucified  Malefactor,  and  who  dreamed 
of.  a  temj)oral  kingdom.  These  all 
walked  by  sight.  Others  beheld  in 
him  the  Mighty  God,  the  everlasting 
Father,  the  Prince  of  Peace,  the  Mes- 
siah, the  desire  of  all  nations,  the  Lamb 
of  God,  the  Son  of  God,  the  King  of 
Israel,  who  looked  for  a  spiritual  king- 
dom that  would  fill  the  whole  earth, 
whose  dominion  should  be  forever  and 
ever.  These  all  walked  by  faith,  and 
according  to  their  faith  even  so  was  it 
done  unto  them. 

By  faith,  the  good  old  Simeon  took 
up  the  child  Jesus  in  his  arms,  and 
said,  "Lord,  now  lettest  thou  thy  serv- 
ant depart  in  peace,  for  mine  eyes 
have  seen  thy  salvation."  By  faith, 
the  friends  of  the  man  sick  of  the 
palsy  broke  open  the  roof  of  the  house,, 
and  lowered  the  sick  man  down  into 
the  midst  where  Jesus  was,  and  expe- 
rienced his  salvation.  By  faith,  Joseph 
of  Arimathea,  went  to  Pilate  and  begged 
the  body  of  Jesus,  and  laid  it  in  his 
own  sepulcher,  not  doubting  but  that  it 
would  be  raised  again  according  to  the 
Scriptures.  By  faith,  Paul,  when  brought 
before  kings  and  princes  of  the  eai'th, 
declared  boldly  the  gospel  of  Christ 
and  his  hope  in  the  resurrection  of  the 
dead.  By  faith,  the  disciples,  who  were 
in  Jerusalem  when  it  was  encompassed 
by  the  Eoman  armies,  left  the  city  and 
fled  to  the  mountains,  and  thus  escaped 
punishment  in  the  overthrow  thereof. 
By  faith,  John  Huss  and  Jerome,  of 
Prague,  delivered  their  bodies  to  be 
burned,  not  accepting  deliverance.  By 
faith,  Luther  burnt  the  Bull  of  excom- 
munication, and  repaired  to  the  city  of 
Worms,  not  fearing  the  wrath  of  Pope, 
Emperor,  or  Devil.  By  faith,  the  Pil- 
grim Fathers  braved  the  fury  of  the 
ocean  and  the  violence  of  the  savage, 
ani  planted  a  habitation  for  God  in 
the  wilderness,  yea,  a  refuge  for  the 
children  of  men. 


EELIGIOUS    ALLEGOEIES. 


13 


Chap,  xvii: 
verse  17. 


PSALM 
xix : 

verse  7. 


PROVEEBS, 
Chap.  XXX : 
•     verse  5. 


ISAIAH, 

Chap,  xl: 

verse  8. 


LUKE, 

Chap,  viii 
verse  11. 


MATTHEW, 

Chap,  xxiv: 
verse  35. 


2  PETEE 
Chap,  i : 
verse  21. 


PSALM 

cxix : 
verse  9. 


THE  SURE  GUIDE. 

Thy  word  is  a  lamp  unto  my  feet,  and  a  light  unto  my  path.  Ps. 
cxix:  105.  Ye  do  loell  that  ye  take  heed,  as  unto  a  light  that 
shineth  in  a  dark  place.     2  Peter,  i :  19. 


AijONE,  bewildered,  and  in  pensive  mood, 

A  traveler  wanders  thi-ough  a  pathless  wood; 

Forward  he  goes,  then  back,  then  round  and  round. 

And  lists  in  vain  to  catch  a  friendly  sound. 

Soon  night  o'ertakes  him  on  her  ebon  car. 

Robed  in  thick  darkness,  without  moon  or  star; 

No  lonely  light  gleams  through  the  misty  air. 

And  tremblingly  he  wanders  in  despair; 

At  length  he  sinks,  and  now  for  once  he  prays. 

And  lo !  a  compass  close  beside  him  lays; 

A  light  he  gets  and  holds  it  at  its  side, 


That  he  may  well  consult  the  faithful  guide; 
Within  his  breast  hope  now  exulting  springs, 
And  painful  doubt,  and  fear  away  he  flings; 
But  now  false  guides  advance  across  his  track; 
One  strives  with  speeches  fair  to  turn  him  back; 
Another  bawls  with  bold  and  blust'ring  shout : 
Here!   through  this   pleasant  opening   lies  your 
I  tell  you,  says  a  third,  it  is  not  so;  [route. 

This,  and  this  only,  is  the  way  to  go; 
He  shuns  them  all,  and  trims  his  light  anew. 
And  heeds  his  compass,  and  it  guides  him  through. 


An  hpncst  traveler  having^,  on  his 
■way  home,  to  pass  through  a  lonely 
forest,  loses  his  way.  Bewildered,  he 
knows  not  which  way  to  turn.     Now 


he  goes  forward ;  now  backward.  Then, 
after  wandering  about  for  some  time, 
finds  himself  where  he  first  starts 
from.     He  is  discouraged;    he   listens, 


14 


EELIGIOUS    ALLBGOEIES 


hoping  to  catch  from  the  whispering 
winds  some  tidings  of  companionship 
or  safety.  'T  is  all  in  vain.  Thick 
mists  now  gather  beneath  the  leafy  can- 
opy. The  shadows  of  evening  j^revail, 
and  night  wraps  the  earth  in  her  mantle 
of  pitchy  darkness.  He  gropes  his  way 
with  fear  and  trembling;  ho  becomes 
exhausted;  hopeless  and  overcome,  at 
last  he  sinks  on  the  wet  ground.  For 
awhile  he  muses.  A  thought  strikes 
him — he  will  pray.  He  lifts  up  his 
hands  in  prayer,  and  as  they  fall  again 
at  his  side,  he  feels  a  something.  Be- 
hold !  it  is  a  compass.  Now  he  strikes 
a  light,  and  looks  with  intense  interest 
on  his  new-found  guide.  Hope  now 
swells  his  bosom ;  he  will  again  see  his 
beloved  home.  Doubt  and  fear  are 
thrown  to  the  winds,  and  he  springs  up 
to  pursue  his  journey. 

As  he  moves  forward  with  a  light  in 
one  hand  and  compass  in  the  other,  sev- 
eral persons,  attracted  by  the  light,  rush 
toward  him  and  proffer  their  assistance. 
One  pointing  out  an  opening  to  the  left, 
roomy  and  level  withal,  with  many  fair 
speeches  and  much  earnestness,  presses 
him  to  take  it.  Another,  pointing  to 
the  right,  in  a  very  confident  manner, 
urges  him  to  take  that.  It  is  smoother 
and  less  obstructed  than  the  way  ahead. 
The  traveler,  honest  in  his  purpose  of 
finding  home,  and  relying  upon  his 
compass,  rejects  all  their  offers  of  ad- 
vice. He  trims  his  lamp  afresh,  looks 
again  at  his  guide,  and  following  im- 
plicity  the  way  it  directs,  he  gets  out 
of  the  wood  and  arrives  home  in  peace. 

The  lonely  forest  denotes  this  pres- 
ent world.  The  traveler,  man ;  home, 
hajipiness;  the  compass,  the  Holy  Bible; 
the  light,  the  Holy  Spirit ;  the  false 
guides,  those  deceitful  directors  and 
false  doctrines  that  abound  in  the  world. 
The  world,  apart  from  the  sacred  light 
and  holy  influences  of  heaven,  is  dark, 
cheerless,  and  impenetrable.  Through 
ain,  the  darkness  of  ignorance  and  the 
shadows  of  death  prevail.    "Darkness 


has  covered  the  earth,  and  gross  dark- 
ness the  minds  of  the  people." 

Every-where,  snares  and  pitfalls 
abound;  dangers,  pain,  and  death.  With 
the  desire  of  happiness  strongly  im- 
l^lanted  in  his  bosom,  man  wanders  in 
the  midst  of  misery  and  uncertainty. 
What  he  is,  what  he  must  do,  whither 
he  is  going,  he  can  not  tell.  What  is 
life  ?  what  is  death  ?  He  knows  not. 
He  tastes  of  life  with  bitterness;  he 
approaches  death  with  horror.  If  there 
is  a  God,  what  is  his  character?  how 
shall  he  worship  him?  If  there  be  a 
state  after  death,  what  is  its  nature? 
where  is  the  place  of  its  abode? 

In  this  state  of  distressing  anxiety, 
he  wanders  on,  pathless,  guideless,  light- 
less,  .hopeless — he  is  lost!  In  the  an- 
guish of  his  soul,  he  exclaims,  "Who 
will  show  me  any  good?"  "God,  for- 
ever blessed,"  hears  his  prayer.  He 
has  been  tenderly  watching  him  while 
in  trackless  mazes  lost,  and  in  his  prov- 
idence presents  him  with  a  Bible.  He 
opens  it — he  reads  it.  Wonderful  Book  I 
It  tells  him  all  about  the  darkness;  of 
what  it  is  made,  and  how  it  came  to  over- 
spread the  earth..  It  tells,  too,  of  a  sun, 
a  glorious  sun,  that  can  disperse  the 
gloom;  who  he  is,  and  how  he  becomes 
the  light  of  the  world.  It  points  out  to 
him,  more  distinctly  than  he  ever  saw, 
the  snares  and  pitfalls,  and  the  way  to 
escape  them.  Wherefore  pain,  and  how 
to  endure  it.  Why  the  desire  of  happi- 
ness is  implanted  in  the  human  breast, 
and  how  it  may  be  gratified.  It  makes 
known  to  him  what  he  is,  what  he 
ought  to  do,  where  he  is  going,  and 
what  he  may  become.  It  tells  him  of 
life,  and  how  to  enjoy  it;  of  death^  and 
how  to  strip  it  of  its  terrors. 

It  reveals  to  him  a  God,  tremendous  in 
power,  glorious  in  holiness,  accurate  in 
justice,  infinite  in  love.  The  Almighty 
Maker  and  Euler  of  the  Universe.  It 
prescribes  the  way  in  which  he  would 
be  worshiped,  through  "  Jesus  Christ  the 
Eighteous."     The   sacrifices    he  would 


EELIGIOUS    ALLEGOEIES 


15 


accept,  "a  broken  and  a  contrite  heart;"  this 
is  more  acceptable  to  him  than 

"  Arabia  sacrificed 
And  all  her  spicy  mountains  in  a  Hame." 

The  Bible  reveals  to  him  Futurity.  It 
raises  the  curtain  of  the  hidden  world.  Here 
he  beholds  tlie  tormenting  flame,  the  parched 
tongue,  the  useless  prayer;  there,  the  glory 
of  Paradise,  the  bliss  of  heaven,  the  song  of 
praise.  It  becomes  to  him  just  what  he  needs. 
He  has  found  a  way,  a  guide,  a  light  to  hap- 
piness. Still,  he  understands  its  mighty  truths 
but  imperfectly,  yet  he  reads  on;  scales  fall 
from  his  eyes;  he  beholds  men  as  trees  walk- 
ing. But  the  consolations  of  hope  are  his; 
he  has  found  God;  he  seeks  for  wisdom  at  its 
fount — for  light  at  its  source.  "Open  my 
eyes,"  he  prays,  '"  that  I  may  behold  the  won- 
ders of  thy  Law."  Light  celestial  shines  upon 
the  sacred  page;  he  reads  and  understands 
enough  for  knowledge,  enough  for  duty,  and 
enough  for  happiness. 

As  soon  as  the  honest  inquirer  after  truth 
has  discovered  the  right  path,  begins  to  walk 
in  it,  and  lets  his  light  shine,  numerous 
false  guides  appear  and  proffer  their  services. 
While  he  was  stumbling  along  in  darkness 
and  in  ignorance,  the  devil  gave  no  concern 
about  liim.  Now  he  is  very  much  interested 
in  his  welfare.  He  sends  his  servants  to  put 
the  poor  man  right.  One  of  these  endeavors 
to  dissuade  him  from  using  the  Bible;  for, 
says  he,  "it  is  full  of  mystery;  it  is  impossible 
to  understand  it.  I,  for  one,  will  never  be- 
lieve what  I  can  not  understand.  Follow 
reason;  that  is  the  surest  guide."  "Indeed, 
friend,"  replies  the  enlightened  man,  "  it  was 
by  following  reason  that  I  was  led  into  the 
possession  of  the  Bible,  and  my  Bible  has  led 
me  to  God.  I  acknowledge  it  is  mysterious, 
wonderfully  so;  yet  it  has  led  me  right  hith- 
erto, and  I  am  determined  to  follow  it.  The 
nature  of  its  secret  influence  over  my  soul  I 
can  not  tell.  The  nature  of  the  power  by 
which  it  guides  aright,  under  all  circumstances 
of  life,  I  know  not.  Neither  does  the  mariner 
understand  the  power  by  which  the  compass 
operates  so  beneficially  under  all  circum- 
stances— of  storm  and  calm,  light  and  dark- 
ness, heat  and  cold.  It  is  ever  a  sure  guide. 
lie  believes  in  it;  he  follows  it.  Were  the 
sailor  no  more  to  weigh  anchor  and  spread 
the    flowing    sail,    until    he    understands    the 


mysteries  of  the  compass,  verily,  he  would 
have  to  learn  another  trade-  for  ships  would 
rot  in  harbor,  conmierce  would  cease,  and  in- 
tercourse between  nations  come  to  an  end. 
And  what  is  worthy  of  remark,  the  common 
sailor-boy  understands  just  as  much  of  the 
practical  use  of  the  compass  as  the  captain  ; 
cease,  then,  to  persuade  me  further.  The  Bi- 
ble is  my  compass,  my  sure  guide;  I  will  fol- 
low it." 

Other  false  directors  of  diff'erent  names,  but 
all  of  them  having  the  same  end  in  view,  viz. : 
to  make  him  distrust  his  guide,  and  turn  him 
out  of  the  way,  offer  to  him  their  services; 
some  press  the  matter  one  way,  and  some 
another.  His  reply  to  all  is,  "Wherewithal 
shall  a  young  man  cleanse  his  way,  but  by 
taking  heed  thereto  according  to  thy  word." 

Thus  he  believes  in  it  practically,  follows  its 
directions  implicitly,  and  it  guides  him  safely 
by  every  slough  of  despond,  over  every  mount- 
ain of  difficulty,  through  every  strait  of  dis- 
tress, and  every  storm  of  tribulation,  and  con- 
ducts him,  at  last,  in  triumph  to  the  home  of 
the  blessed. 

"Take  from  the  world  the  Bible,  and  you 
have  taken  the  moral  chart  by  which  alone 
its  population  can  be  guided.  Ignorant  of  the 
nature  of  God,  and  only  guessing  at  their  own 
immortality,  the  tens  of  thousands  would  be 
as  mariners,  tossed  on  a  wide  ocean,  without 
a  pole  star  and  without  a  compass.  The  blue 
lights  of  the  storm-fiend  would  burn  ever  in 
the  shrouds;  and  when  the  tornado  of  death 
rushed  across  the  waters,  there  would  be  heard 
nothing  but  the  shriek  of  the  terrified,  and  the 
groan  of  the  despairing.  It  were  to  mantle 
the  earth  with  a  more  than  Egyptian  dark- 
ness; it  were  to  dry  up  the  fountains  of  hu- 
man happiness ;  it  were  to  take  the  tides  from 
our  waters  and  leave  them  stagnant,  and  the 
stars  from  our  heavens  and  leave  them  in 
sackcloth,  and  the  verdure  from  our  valleys 
and  leave  them  in  barrenness;  it  were  to 
make  the  present  all  recklessness,  and  the  fu- 
ture all  hopelessness;  the  maniac's  revelry, 
and  then  the  fiend's  imprisonment;  if  you 
could  annihilate  the  precious  volume  which 
tells  us  of  God  and  of  Christ,  and  unveils  im- 
mortality, and  instructs  in  duty,  and  woos  to 
glory.  Such  is  the  Bible.  Prize  ye  it,  and 
study  it  more  and  more.  Prize  it,  as  ye  are 
immortal  beings,  for  it  guides  to  the  New 
Jerusalem.  Prize  it,  as  ye  are  intellectual  be- 
ings, "for  it  giveth  light  to  the  simple." 


16 


EELIGIOUS    ALLEGOEIES. 


1  JOHN", 

Chap,  iii: 
verse  1. 


GALATIANS, 
Chap,  v: 
Terse  22. 


1  JOHI^, 

Chap,  iv: 
verse  7. 


1  THESSAL'NS, 

Chap,  iv: 

verse  9. 


EOMANS, 

Chap,  xii: 

verse  9. 


TITUS, 

Chap,  iii: 
verse  45. 


EOMANS, 
Chap,  v: 
verse  8. 


EOMANS, 

Chap,  viii: 

verses  35,  39. 


CHARITY  OR  LOVE. 


14.- 


Above  all  things  put  on  charity.     Col.  iii 

jilling  of  the  law.     Rom.  xiii:  10. God  is  love. 


Love  is  the  fal- 
1  John  IV :  8. 


The  seraph  Charity  from  heaven  descends, 
And  o'er  the  world  on  shining  pinions  bends; 
Round  mourning  mortals  tender  as  a  dove, 
She  spreads  her  wing  and  soothes  in  tones  of  love ; 
Pours  living  balm  into  the  wounded  breast, 
And  aids  the  beggar,  though  in  tatters  dress' d; 
The  orphan's  plaint  she  heeds,  and  widow's  sigh, 


And  smiles  away  the  tear  from  sorrow's  eye. 
Like  some  fair  fount  that  through  the  desert  flows, 
Fringed  with  the  myrtle  and  the  Persian  rose. 
She  scatters  blessings  all  along  her  track, 
And  hope  and  joy  to  want  and  woe  brings  back; 
And  when  the  last  faint  sob  is  heard  no  more, 
Up  to  her  native  bowers  again  she  '11  soar. 


Behold  here  a  being  of  heavenly  ap- 
pearance. The  light  of  love  irradiates 
her  brow;  her  eyes  melt  with  tender- 
ness; her  countenance  wears  the  aspect 
of  benevolence;  her  heart  bleeds  with 
sympathy;  her  hands  are  strong  to 
save;  the  commiserating  Angel  has 
come  from  a  distant  part;  on  the  wings 


of  love  and  compassion  she  has  come; 
she  has  left  all  to  succor  and  to  save 
the  helpless,  the  wretched,  and  the  lost. 
See  her  at  her  godlike  work.  In  the 
foreground  she  is  raising  a  miserable 
being  in  rags  and  tatters  from  a  pit  of 
mire  and  filth.  "With  her  right  hand 
she  is  pouring  the  balm  of  life  into  the 


EELIGIOUS    ALLEGOBIES. 


17 


wounds  of  the  dying.  Look  behind 
her;  see  the  widow  and  the  fatherless. 
They  have  come  to  bless  her;  with 
hearts  gushing  with  grateful  emotion 
they  follow  her  Avith  their  j^raise;  she 
has  rescued  them  from  the  gripe  of  the 
oppressor;  they  were  hungry  and  she 
fed  them,  naked  and  she  clothed  them, 
and  their  prayei-s  like  a  cloud  of  in- 
cense go  uj)  to  heaven  in  behalf  of 
their  compassionate  friend.  Before  she 
leaves  the  district  of  pain,  want,  and 
wretchedness.  Charity,  for  that  is  her 
name,  builds  a  house  for  the  reception 
of  the  distressed;  here  she  provides 
what  is  necessar}^,  appoints  her  officers 
and  attendants,  leaves  wholesome  in- 
structions, then  amid  the  praises,  thanks- 
givings, and  benedictions  of  those  whom 
her  love  has  blessed,  she  spreads  again 
her  wings  and  soars  to  her  own  abode, 
there  to  banquet  on  the  remembrance 
of  her  deeds. 

This  engraving  represents,  first  of  all, 
the  divine  Charity  of  the  ever -blessed 
Redeemer.  He  left  the  glories  and 
happiness  of  heaven  to  visit  our  dis- 
eased, our  lost  world.  Beaming  with 
love,  melting  with  tenderness,  filled 
with  benevolence,  on  the  wings  of  com- 
passion he  flew  to  our  relief  How  com- 
passionate !  how  sympathizing !  He 
becomes  a  slave  himself  that  he  may 
preach  deliverance  to  the  captives,  and 
the  opening  of  the  prison-doors  to  them 
which  are  bound,  and  that  he  might 
proclaim  the  acceptable  year  of  the 
Lord.  See  him  at  his  work  of  mercy. 
The  world  is  an  aceldama,  a  vast  Lazar- 
house,  a  conquered  pi'ovince,  subject  to 
sin  and  death.  He  scatters  health 
around  him;  he  gives  eyesight  to  the 
helpless  blind  ;  he  bids  the  lame  to  walk ; 
the  hungry  he  fills  with  good  things ; 
the  very  dead  he  restores  to  life  and 
joy.  He  beholds  the  weeping  widow, 
and  hastens  to  wipe  away  her  tears. 
He  visits  the  house  of  mourning  and 
fills  it  with  the  song  of  praise. 

Behold   him    ascend    the    Mount    of 


Blessing.  He  takes  his  seat;  heavenly 
light  shines  around  him;  the  majesty 
of  holiness  encircles  his  brow.  Love 
divine  love,  looks  out  from  his  won- 
drous eyes;  the  manna  of  wisdom  dropi> 
from  his  lips;  he  assembles  around  him 
the  poor,  the  mourners,  the  persecuted, 
and  showers  upon  them  the  blessings 
of  an  endless  life.  He  rescued  the  con- 
quered province  from  the  grasp  of  the 
foe,  destroyed  the  power  of  death,  and 
opened  unto  man  the  portals  of  imm.or- 
tal  life.  "He  wept  that  man  might 
smile ;  he  bled  that  man  might  never  die ; 
he  seized  our  dreadful  right,  the  load 
sustained,  and  hove  the  mountain  from 
our  guilty  world."-  He  established  his 
Church  as  an  hospital  for  the  spiritually 
diseased,  appointed  his  own  ministera 
and  officers,  gave  his  own  laws  for  the 
guidance  thereof,  and,  having  perfected 
his  work  of  Charity,  he  ascended  again 
to  the  mansions  of  bliss,  there  to  see 
the  efi'ects  "of  the  travail  of  his  soul 
and  be  satisfied."  As  was  the  divine 
Founder,  such  is  the  religion  he  estab- 
lished. Christianity  is  a  noble  systein 
of  Charity.  It  teaches  man  to  feel 
another's  woe,  to  seek  another's  good, 
to  breathe,  instead  of  revenge,  forgive- 
ness and  afi'ection.  For  the  aged,  halt, 
the  maimed,  and  the  blind  it  erects 
asylums  of  comfort  and  repose  ;  for  the 
sufi'ering  and  the  sick,  hospitals ;  and, 
above  all,  taking  into  account  man's 
sj^iritual  wants,  man's  deathless  inter- 
ests as  a  candidate  for  eternity,  it  j^ro- 
vides  temples  for  religious  worship, 
where  the  ignorant  may  be  instructed, 
the  guilty  pardoned,  the  polluted  sanc- 
tified, and  made  meet  for  heaven.  Other 
religions  are  a  fable,  a  delusion,  a 
shadoAV.  Christianity  is  alone  benevo- 
lent— in  its  founder,  in  its  essence,  and 
in  its  operations,  intensely  benevolent. 
Infidelity,  in  all  its  appeals,  professes 
charity  and  benevolence.  What  have 
its  apostles  done  to.  benefit  mankind? 
In  what  book  arc  their  "acts"  record- 
ed?    To  what  lands  have  they  carrie<i 


18 


EELIGIOUS    ALLEGOEIES 


the  blessings  of  civilization?  What  pris- 
ons have  they  opened?  What  chains 
have  they  snapped  asunder?  Where 
are  the  tombs  of  tlieir  martyrs ?  Where 
the  trophies  of  their  success?  Infidel- 
ity is  cruel,  earthly,  sensual,  and  devil- 
ish. AVituess  its  day  of  triumph  m 
France.  True,  it  opened  the  door  of 
the  bastile,  but  it  was  only  to  lead  the 
inmates  to  the  guillotine;  it  demolished 
the  walls,  but  it  was  only  to  build  out 
of  the  ruins  thereof  a  hundred  dun- 
geons, if  possible,  still  more  gloomy 
and  terrible.  The  reign  of  infidelity 
is  the  "reign  of  terror."  "The  infant 
comes  into  the  world  without  a  bless- 
ing, the  aged  leaves  it  without  hope." 
The  house  of  mercy  is  closed,  the  book 
of  mercy  is  burned,  the  ministers  of 
mercy  are  slaughtered,  the  (lod  of  mer- 
cy is  banished ;  yea,  a  watch  is  set  upon 
the  tomb  that  the  dead  may  rise  no 
more,     infidelity, 

"like  Sampson  in  his  wrath, 
Plucking  the  pillars  that  support  the  world, 
Fair  Charity  in  ruins  lies  entombed, 
And  midnight,  universal  midnight  reigns." 

As  is  the  founder  of  Christianity, 
and  as  is  Christianity  itself,  such,  also, 
is  the  disciple.  He  goes  about  doing 
good;  he  is  the  Jordan  in  its  fullness; 
he,  like  the  Nile,  leaves  behind  him  the 
seeds  of  a  new  creation ;  he  seeks  out 
the  helpless  and  the  destitute;  he  visits 
the  widows  and  the  fatherless  in  their 
aflliction,  and  soothes  and  wipes  away 
their  tears ;  he  understands  and  appre- 
ciates the  heaven-born  sentiment,  ^^  It 
is  more  blessed  to  give  than  to  receive." 


Hence,  "when  the  ear  hears  of  him,  it 
blesses  him;  when  the  eye  sees  him,  it 
gives  witness  for  him,  and  the  blessing 
of  him  that  was  ready  to  perish  comes 
upon  him." 

The  discii:)le,  however,  views  man  in 
his  relation  to  both  worlds — as  possess- 
ing a  deathless  spirit,  as  a  candidate 
for  eternity,  as  an  ignorant,  helpless, 
and  guilty  sinner,  unholy  and  unclean, 
and  yet  redeemed  by  the  blood  of  Christ. 
He  will,  as  far  as  possible,  instruct  his 
ignorance  and  point  him  to  the  Savior. 
True  Charity  acts  from  motives  of  love 
to  Grod  as  well  as  man;  hence  ingrati- 
tude does  not  restrain  him,  nor  oppo- 
sition make  him  afraid.  He  lays  up  a 
foundation  against  the  time  to  come; 
and  when  he  shall  have  sown  the  seeds 
of  benevolence  here,  he  will  reap  a 
harvest  of  everlasting  love;  for  "what- 
soever a  man  soweth,  that  shall  he  also 
reap." 

"True  Charity,  a  plant  divinely  nursed, 
Yet  by  love  from  which  it  rose  at  first, 
Thrives  against  hope,  and,  in  the  rudest  scene, 
Storms  but  enliven  its  unfading  green. 
Exuberant  is  the  shadow  it  supplies. 
Its  fruits  on  earth,  its  growth  above  the  skies; 
To  look  at  him,  who  formed  us  and  redeemed, 
So  glorious  now,  though  once  so  disesteemed; 
To  see  a  God  stretch  forth  his  human  hand, 
To  uphold  the  boundless  scenes  of  his  com- 
To  recollect  that  in  a  form  like  ours,     [mand; 
He  bruised  beneath  his  feet  the  in  fernal  powers; 
Captivity  led  captive,  rose  to  claim 
The  wreath  he  won  so  dearly  in  our  name. 
Like  him,  the  soul,  thus  kindled  from  above, 
Spreads  wide  her  arms  of  universal  love; 
And,  still  enlarged  as  she  receives  the  grace, 
Includes  creation  in  her  close  embrace." 


1!  E  L I  Cr  I  0  U  S    ALLEGORIES 


19 


PROVEEBS, 

Chap,  viii  ; 

verse  13. 


DANIEL, 

Chap,  iv: 
verse  37. 


1  JOHN, 

Chap,  ii; 
verse  16. 


ISAIAH, 
Chap,  ii: 
verse  12. 


MATTHEW, 
Chap,  v: 
verse  3. 


PROYEEBS, 

Chap,  xvi: 

verse  19. 


ISAIAH, 

Chap.  Ivii: 
verse  15. 


JAMES, 

Chap,  iv: 
verse  6. 


PRIDE  AND  HUMILITY. 

Pride  goeth  before  destruction,  and  an  haughty  spirit  before  a  fall. 
Prov.  xvi:  18. He  giveth  grace  unto  the  lowly.     Pro  v.  Hi:  34. 


Rising  in  fair  proportion  side  by  side, 
Behold  the  stages  of  Progressive  Pride; 
Respectability  begins  the  course; 
'Tis  his  wlio  has — all  lold — a  well-filled  purse; 
High  as  his  neighbor  sure  he'd  like  to  feel, 
So  takes  the  next  step,  and  is  quite  Genteel; 
By  many  acts  for  which  he'd  fain  write — blank, 
He  swells  and  struts  at  length  a  man  of  Rank; 
The  chair  of  state' he  next  ascends,  that  Fame 
May  faithfully  transmit  his  JJonored  name; 
He  meets  a  rival  here,  and,  woe  to  tell, 
He  sends  his  rival  in  a  trice  to — hell; 
A  thousand  shots  like  that,  and,  strange  to  say. 


Right  up  to  Glory  he  has  won  his  way. 
Pride  walks  a  thorny  path;  it  nothing  bears 
But  swords,  and  pistols,  blood,  and  groans,  and 
Far  different  in  the  happy  vale,  behold  [tears. 
Uumility  at  ease,  uncursed  with  gold; 
With  competence  content,  with  wisdom  blessed, 
In  peace  he  dwells,  caressing  and  caressed; 
No  thorns  beset  his  path,  there  only  grows 
The  bending  corn,  the  violet,  and  the  rose; 
Truth,  beauty,  innocence,  at  once  combine. 
And  o'er  his  pathway  sheds  a  light  divine; 
And  when  he  loaves  the  vale,  to  him  'tis  given, 
To  walk  amid  the  bowers  of  bliss  in  heaven. 


This  engravino^   shows  a  rude   mass 
of  rocks  rising  from  the  valley  helow. 
They  appear  to  be  thrown  uj)  by  some 
9 


volcanic  explosion,  or  forced  up  bv  the 
agency  of  subterranean  fires,  they  are 
so  steejp,  rugged,  and  unequal.     On  the 


20 


EELIGIOrS    ALLEGOEIES, 


tops  of  the  ledges  are  seen  bushes  of 
thorns,  high,  find  spreading  in  all  di- 
rections. On  the  first  ledge  is  a  man 
who  has  scrambled  up  with  some  diffi- 
culty to  the  place  he  now  occupies. 
His  object  is  to  get  as  high  as  he  can, 
and  he  is  seen  about  to  place  himself 
on  the  elevation  of  Gentility.  On  the 
next  ridge  is  seen  a  man  and  woman, 
who  appear  to  think  a  good  deal  of 
themselves.  They  strut  and  swell  like 
peacocks,  although  behind  and  before 
danger  threatens.  A  little  higher  see! 
there  is  murder  committed.  One  man 
has  sliot  at,  and  killed  his  brother,  just 
because  he  would  not  move  faster  out 
of  his  way,  although  there  was  room 
enough  for  both.  At  the  end  of  the 
rocks  and  above  all,  is  a  man  in  uni- 
form. He  has  attained  the  highest  pin- 
nacle. Thunder  and  lightning  attend 
his  path ;  storms  gather  round  him.  A 
man  of  thick  skin,  no  doubt;  thorns 
could  not  scratch  him,  nor  daggers 
pierce  him,  nor  bullets  kill  him.  His 
glory,  however,  is  almost  gone.  The 
next  step  he  takes  he  falls,  and  disaj)- 
pears. 

A  more  pleasing  picture  presents 
itself  to  us  below.  A  lovely  vale  opens 
enriched  and  adorned  Avith  the  choicest 
of  fruits  and  flowers  of  paradise;  there 
the  fountains  pour  forth  their  living 
streams.  The.  corn  bends  gracefully  to 
the  passing  zephyr.  The  lowly  violet 
rears  her  beauteous  head  in  the  friend- 
ly shade;  the  rose  of  Sharon  decks  the 
border;  the  father,  mother,  and  little 
one  are  seen  walking  together  along 
this  beautiful  vallej^,  with  Wisdom  for 
their  guide.  The  air  is  filled  with  fra- 
grance and  sweet  sounds;  no  thorns 
grow  there  to  obstruct  their  path  ;  no 
lightning's  flash,  nor  thunder's  roar 
makes  them  afraid.  Safe,  peaceful,  and 
happy,  they  pass  along,  while  Truth, 
Beauty,  and  Innocence  irradiate  their 
pathway  that  leads  directly  to  their 
own  sequestered  cottage. 

This  is  an  allegorical  representation 


of  Pride  and  Humility.  The  shelving 
rocks  denote  the  rugged  and  thorny 
path  of  Pride.  The  way  is  raised  by 
the  agency  of  the  devil.  Having  ru- 
ined himself  by  pride,  he  seeks  to  bring 
man  into  the  same  condemnation ;  he 
tempts  the  children  of  men  to  walk  on 
it.  The  Most  High  has  planted  it  with 
thorns,  made  it  difficult  in  order  to  de- 
ter men  from  walking  on  it.  Notwith- 
standing this  merciful  jDrecaution,  it  is 
crowded  with  adventurers.  Nothing 
shows  the  fallen  character  of  man  more 
than  his  silly  and  presumptuous  pride, 
at  once  stupid  and  wicked. 

"Of  all  the  causes  wliich  conspire  to  blind 
Man's  erring  judgment,  and  misguide  his  mind. 
What  the  weak  head  with  strongest  bias  rules, 
Is  Pride,  the  never-failing  vice  of  fools; 
Whatever  nature  has  in  worth  denied, 
She  gives  in  large  recruits  of  needful  pride; 
For  as  in  bodies,  thus  in  souls,  we  find 
What  wants  in  blood  and  spirits,  swelled  with 

wind; 
Pride,  where  wit  f;iils,  steps  in  to  our  defense, 
And  fills  up  all  the  mighty  void  of  sense." 

A  man  becomes  possessed  of  a  little 
gold,  and  he  all  at  once  becomes  blind, 
or  at  least  he  sees  things  in  a  very  dif- 
ferent light  from  what  he  did  once. 
He  himself  is  altogether  another  man. 
He  wonders  that  he  never  before  dis- 
covered his  own  merit.  He  no  longer 
associates  with  his  former  friends;  Oh 
no !  they  are  not  respectable.  He  wishes 
to  be  considered  a  gentleman;  he  will 
no  longer  work;  he  is  above  that.  He 
sees  his  neighbor  living  in  a  higher  style 
than  he  does;  he  is  discontented.  The 
thorns  already  begin  to  scratch  him. 
Pride,  however,  can  bear  a  little  pain, 
Pride  is  very  prolific.  The  man  under 
its  influence  soon  gets  peevish,  envious, 
and  revengeful.  The  remonstrances  of 
conscience  are  silenced,  and  he  gives 
himself  up  to  the  guidance  of  Ambition. 

He  next  aspires  after  rank  and  fash- 
ion ;  but  Pride  is  very  expensive.  In 
order  to  keep  up  appearances,  he  does 
many  things  that  at  one  time  he  would 


EELIGIOUS    ALLEGOEIES, 


21 


never  have  thought  of  doing.  He  can  lie,  and 
be  very  respectable.  He  can  overreach  and 
defraud  his  neighbor,  and  yet  be  respectable. 
He  can  seduce  the  innocent  and  unsuspecting, 
and  destroy  the  happiness  of  entire  families, 
and  still  be  considered  respectable.  By  his 
glanders  he  has  ruined  the  reputation  of  more 
than  one.  By  his  unrighteous  schemes  he  at- 
tains the  present  object  of  his  proud  heart,  and 
moves  among  the  circles  of  rank  and  fashion. 

Yet  his  soul  is  restless.  It  is  like  the  troubled 
sea;  he  pants  for  Power.  He  pursues  after 
honors,  that  the  trump  of  fame  may  sound 
his  name  abroad,  and  hand  it  down  faithfully 
to  posterity.  He  becomes  now  a  candidate  for 
high  office.  In  his  own  opinion  he  po.ssesses 
every  qualification;  he  is  astonished  that  the 
world  should  be  so  blind  to  his  many  excel- 
lencies. He  here  meets  with  a  competitor; 
lie  wishes  him  out  of  his  way.  "  From  pride 
comes  contention;"  he  picks  a  quarrel  with 
his  rival.  The  challenge  succeeds;  the  duel  is 
fought,  and  his  antagonist  falls  weltering  in 
his  blood.  He  triumphs.  Ah  !  unhappy  man  ! 
Remorse  is  his  companion  forever — the  ghost 
of  the  murdered  haunts  him  continually. 

He  is  installed  in  office.  He  scruples  at 
nothing  that  will  but  increase  his  power;  the 
man's  pride  knows  no  bounds — he  aspires  now 
after  conquest  and  dominion.  He  will  be  a 
hero;  he  will  attain  the  high  pinnacle  of  mil- 
itary renown  and  glory.  War,  fearful,  devas- 
tating war,  goes  before  him  ;  Famine  and  Pesti- 
lence attend  him  ;  Ruin  and  Misery  Ibllow  close 
behind,  but  "Pride  goeth  before  destruction!" 
There  are  others  who  wish  him  out  of  the  way. 
A  shot  from  his  own  ranks  cuts  him  down. 
From  his  high  elevation  he  is  brought  low. 
His  glory  is  departed. 

"  Heroes  are  much  the  same,  the  points  agreed, 
From  ISIacedonia's  madman  to  the  Swede; 
Mark  by  what  wretched  steps  their  glory  grows. 
From  dirt  and  seaweed  as  proud  Venice  rose; 
In  e.Tch  how  guilt  and  greatness  equal  ran. 
And  all  that  raised  the  hero  sunk  the  man." 

The  man  with  his  family  in  the  happy  vale 


represents  IlumiVity.  The  passions  seldom  op- 
erate alone;  humility  begets  contention  and 
peace.  He  is  satisfied  with  the  position  God 
has  given  him.  He  has  learned  from  the  Book 
of  Wisdom  that  happiness  consists  not  in  the 
abundance  of  things  which  a  man  may  pos- 
sess; hence  contentment  is  his  safeguard. 
He  has  no  desire  to  ascend  the  rugged  path 
of  pride;  he  drinks  wisdom  and  knowledge 
from  the  fountain  of  Truth — he  quaffs  pleas- 
tire  at  the  springs  of  domestic  bliss.  His 
greatest  treasure  is  a  good  conscience — his 
highest  ambition  to  walk  liumbly  with  his  God. 
Free  from  the  consuming  cares,  the  torturing 
desires,  the  fierce  passions,  the  dreadful  fears, 
and  gnawing  conscience  of  the  man  of  Pride, 
he  enjoys  peace.  He  labors  to  discharge  all 
the  duties  of  his  station,  with  an  eye  single, 
doing  all  to  the  glory  of  God.  His  present 
path  is  safe,  peaceful,  and  happy,  and  his  hope 
of  the  future  blessed  and  glorious. 

"Far  from  the  madd'ning  crowd's  ignoble  strife, 
Their  sober  wishes  never  learned  to  stray; 
Along  the  cool,  sequestered  vale  of  life 
They  keep  the  noiseless  tenor  of  their  way." 

Behold  how  great  is  the  difference  between 
Humility  and  Pride.  Pride  assumes  an  ele- 
vated position,  and  looks  down  with  contempt 
on  all  beneath.  Humility  is  content  with  a 
lowly  seat,  and  mingles  kindly  with  the  broth- 
erhood of  man.  Pride  climbs  a  steep,  dry, 
and  rugged  path,  beset  with  thorns  and  briars. 
Humility  walks  the  verdant  vale  amid  rippling 
brooks,  blushing  corn,  and  flowers  of  vernal 
beauty.  Pride  occupies  a  dangerous  place; 
even  nature  contends  against  him.  The  thnor 
der,  the  lightning,  and  the  storm  encompass 
him  about.  Humility  walks  with  nature,  and 
her  path  is  safe.  Pride  is  tormented  with 
cares,  fears,  and  vain  desires.  Humility  enjoys 
the  peace  of  God  that  passeth  understanding. 
Pride  works  all,  and  endures  all,  to  be  seen  of 
dying  men.  Humility  courts  the  eye  only  of 
the  living  God.  The  path  of  Pride  leads  to 
shame  and  everlasting  contempt;  that  of  Hu- 
mility to  Honor,  Glory,  and  Eternal  Life. 


EELiaiOUS    ALLEGOKIES 


ACTS, 
Chap.  XX : 
verse  24. 


^'c 
^ 


EEYELATION, 

Chap,  xii :  i    , 

verse  11.  i  fjj  j/ j  l<  ,  .       '  \ 


y 


ACTS, 
Chap.  XV : 
verse  26. 


JJJill-^  /  ■■ 


1/  ,  .  ■  ' 


EEVELATION, 

Chaj).  vi: 
verse  9. 


PHILLIPIAKS, 

Chap,  iii: 
vei'se  8. 


HEBEEWS. 
Chap,  x: 
verse  34. 


HEBEEWS, 
Chap,  xi: 
verse  37. 


MATTHEW, 
Chap.  XX : 
verse  28. 


THE  SACRIFICE. 

Whosoever  will  lose  his  life  for  my  sake  shall  save  it.     Luke  ix : 

24. He  died  for  all.     2  Cor.  v:  15. We  ought  to  lay  down 

our  lives  for  the  brethren.     1  John  iii:  16. 


See  here  the  AVavriors  on  the  battle-fiehl 
In  dread  array  with  gleaming  spear  and  shield; 
They  rush  together  with  the  mighty  roar 
Of  stormy  ocean  on  a  rock-bound  shore; 
Shields  strike  on  shields,  helmets  on  helmets  clash, 
In  pools  of  purple  gore  the  Legions  splash. 
From  Latium's  host  the  sound  of  triumph  rings. 
And  Victory  guides  them  on  her  crimson  wings; 
Then  the  brave  Roman,  fired  with  patriot  zeal. 


His  life  devoted  for  his  country's  weal; 

The  victors  then  in  dire  amazement  stood, 

As  on  he  swept  like  a  desti'oying  flood; 

His  blood-stained  sword  through  crest  and  corselet 

sank. 
Like  Death's  own  angel,  swift  he  strewed  each 

rank; 
Atbngth  he  fell,  and  Rome's  proud  banner  waved 
Its  folds  triumphant  o'er  a  nation  saved. 


Behold,  here,  the  battle-field;  the 
warriors  are  seen  arrayed  in  all  the 
pompous  circumstance  of  war.  Armed 
with  shield  and  javelin,  they  stand  pre- 
pared  for  dreadful   combat.     See!    the 


ranks  are  broken ;  one  is  seen  rushing 
into  the  midst  of  the  enemy;  on  he 
sweeps  like  a  tornado;  rio:ht  and  left  he 
hurls  the  blood-stained  spear;  he  cuts 
his  way  through ;   the   foe,    astounded 


EELIGIOUS    ALLEGOEIES. 


23 


at  his  daring  intrepidity,  give  back. 
Again  they  rally,  and  the  hero  falls 
covered  with  a  hundred  wounds;  he 
has,  however,  effected  his  object — the 
ranks  are  broken;  his  comrades  follow 
up  the  advantage  thus  gained;  rushing 
into  the  breach  they  rout  the  foe,  and 
soon  victory  sits  perched  upon  their 
banner. 

The  Eomans,  being  at  one  time  en- 
gaged in  battle  against  the  Latins,  the 
latter  had  the  advantage,  and  victory 
Was  about  to  decide  in  their  favor,  when 
Publius  Decius,  observing  how  things 
Avent,  fired  with  a  generous  zeal,  deter- 
mined to  sacrifice  his  life  for  his  country's 
welfare.  He  threw  himself  upon  the 
ranks  of  the  enemy,  and  after  having 
committed  great  slaughter  among  them, 
fell  overwhelmed  with  wounds.  His 
countrymen,  inspired  by  his  heroic  ex- 
ample, rallied  their  forces,  renewed  the 
combat,  fought  with  great  bravery,  and 
gained  a  complete  victor}-.  Decius  left 
behindhim  ason,  whoin  like  mannersac- 
rificed  his  life  in  the  war  with  the  Etrus- 
cans ;  also  agrandson,  who  sacrificed  him- 
Belf  in  the  war  waged  against  Pyrrhus. 
His  example  influenced  his  countrymen 
down  to  the  last  of  the  Romans. 

The  hero  sacrificing  his  life  for  his 
countrj^'s  good  represents  the  Christian 
missionary  falling  in  the  midst  of  hea- 
then lands.  The  young  man  already  be- 
longs to  the  sacramental  host;  devoutly 
attached  to  his  Savior,  burning  with  zeal 
for  his  glory,  he  longs  to  do  something 
to  advance  his  kingdom  on  the  earth. 
The  two  armies  he  knows  are  in  the 
field;  long,  fierce,  and  bloody,  has  been 
the  contest.  O!  if  he  were  permitted 
to  turn  the  battle  to  the  gate.  That 
he  may  see  distinctly  the  state  of  things, 
he  ascends  the  mount  of  Vision  ;  in  one 
direction  he  beholds  Africa  bleeding 
and  prostrate  beneath  the  powers  of 
evil;  he  sees  tribe  waging  against  tribe 
bloody  and  cruel  wars;  rivers  run  red 
with  the  blood  of  its  slaughtered  mill- 
ions: its  mountains  are  crimsoned  with 


human  sacrifices ;  its  valleys  resound 
with  the  wild  yells  of  demon-wor^hip- 
ecs.  In  Central  Africa  he  sees  forty 
millions  ignorant,  cruel,  and  supersti- 
tious, covered  with  the  blackness  of 
night;  every-where  cruelty  reigns  ram- 
pant, enslaving  and  destroying  millions 
of  immortal  souls;  and  as  he  bends  over 
this  mass  of  woe,  he  thinks  he  hears 
Africa  "weeping  for  her  children"  as 
she  "stretches  out  her  hands  unto  God." 

He  turns  his  eyes  in  another  di- 
rection, and  he  beholds  China — vast, 
populous  China — and  infidel  refinement, 
mixed  with  abominable  vices  jH-evails; 
one  vast  chain  binds  them  fast  to  the 
pictured  idols  of  their  own  creating ; 
there  they  are  ignorant  of  Jehovah,  and 
Jesus  Christ  whom  he  has  sent,  without 
hope  in  the  world. 

He  ventures  to  look  still  further. 
Now  he  beholds  the  myriads  of  India 
crushed  beneath  a  gigantic  sj^stem  of 
error — the  growth  of  ages.  The  rivers 
as  they  roll,  the  mountains  as  thc}^  rise, 
the  valleys  as  they  open,  all  proclaim 
the  deep  degradation  of  the  people. 
"They  have  priests,  but  they  are  im- 
posters  and  murderers  ;  and  altars,  but 
they  are  stained  with  human  blood  ;  and 
objects  of  worship,  but  they  sacrifice  to 
devils  and  not  to  God.  The  countless 
mass  is  at  worship,  before  the  throne  of 
Satan,  glowing  as  with  the  heat  of  an  in- 
fernal furnace,  with  rage,  lust,  and  cru- 
elty for  their  religious  emotions.  He 
looks  again;  their  demon-worship  is 
over,  but  are  they  satisfied  ?  How  eager 
their  looks!  how  objectless  and  restless 
their  movements!  how  the  living  mass 
of  misery  heaves  and  surges,  and  groans 
and  travails  in  pain  together.  He  be- 
holds them  "as  travelers  into  Eternity; 
how  vast  the  procession  they  form, 
how  close  their  ranks,  how  continuous 
the  line,  how  constant  and  steady  the 
advance!  An  angry  cloud  hangs  over 
them,  which  moves  as  they  move,  and 
ever  and  anon  emits  a  lurid  flash  ;  it  is 
stored   with    the    materials    of  judicial 


24 


RELIGIOUS    ALLEGOEIES. 


wrath.  Thousands  of  them  have  reached 
the  edge  of  a  tremendous  gulf;  it  is  the 
gulf  of  perdition,  and  they  are  stand- 
ing on  the  very  brink.  God  of  mercj^ 
they  are  fiilling  over!  Tliey  are  gone !  " 
Finally,  he  looks  at  home;  here,  in 
his  beloved  land,  he  sees  millions  of 
immortal  souls  for  whom  Christ  died, 
shut  up  in  unbelief  and  ignorance. 
Slaves,  doomed  to  labor  in  desj^air,  and 
to  die  without  hoj)e. 

"FroTn  Greenlftiid's  icy  mountains, 

From  India's  coral  strand, 
Where  Afric's  .sunny  fountains 

Roll  down  their  golden  sand; 
From  many  an  ancient  river, 

From  many  a  palmy  plain, 
They  call  hiin  to  deliver 

Their  land  from  error's  chain." 

He  hears  the  call;  it  sinks  deep  into 
his  heart.  He  burns  to  carry  to  Africa 
the  tidings  of  the  God  of  Love;  to 
China  the  system  of  Eternal  Truth;  to 
India  the  sacrifice  of  the  Son  of  God; 
to  his  oppressed  countrj-men  the  Liberty 
that  maketh  "free  indeed."  Viewing 
the  vast  and  deadly  plague  that  deso- 
lates the  earth,  he  longs  to  carry  into 
the  midst  thereof  the  censer  of  incense, 
that  the  plague  may  be  stayed,  and 
spiritual  health  every-where  established. 
In  the  spirit  of  devotion  he  exclaims, 
"here  am  I,  send  me." 

"My  life  and  blood  T  here  present, 
If  for  thy  truth  they  may  be  spent" 

Now  he  selects  his  field  of  labor;  the 
tear  of  love  and  friendship  bedews  his 
cheek;  the  parting  hand  is  given;  the 
last  farewell  breaks  from  his  trembling 
lips;  he  flies  on  the  wings  of  the  wind 
to  meet  the  foe.  Soon  he  is  at  the  post 
of  duty  ;  he  flings  the  torch  of  heavenly 
love  into  the  midst  of  midnight  dark- 
ness; powerfully  he  wields  the  sword 
of  truth  against  gigantic  forms  of  error. 


He  wrestles  with  the  man  of  sin  and  pre- 
vails; the  might  of  God  is  with  him; 
the  enemy  falls  before  him  ;  he  takes  pos- 
session of  his  strong  places.  The  banner 
of  Immanuel  opens  its  folds  triumphant 
to  the  breeze;  soon  the  infant  Church 
lifts  up  its  voice,  "Hosanna,  hosanna  in 
the  highest." 

But  in  the  struggle  the  hero  falls. 
Through  the  influence  of  the  deadly 
climate,  or  through  the  deadlier  pas- 
sion of  the  ferocious  natives,  he  falls. 
Far  from  home  and  friends  he  falls,  and 
"unknelled  and  uncofiined  "  he  is  borne 
to  the  house  aj^pointed  to  all  the  living; 
the  earth  closes  over  him;  not  a  stone 
tells  where  he  lies;  but  his  object  is 
effected,  the  seed  is  sown.  The  tree  of 
Life  is  planted,  whose  leaves  shall  be 
for  the  healing  of  a  nation's  curse. 
The  nation  that  smote  him  by  and  b}^ 
shall  remember  him  whom  they  pierced, 
and  mourn  deeply  because  of  the  mad- 
ness of  their  guilt.  He  is  crowned 
with  glory,  honor,  and  immortality; 
the  brightest  diadem  in  heaven's  own 
gift  is  his;  he  wears  it  as  his  due. 

He  has  fallen,  but  like  Sampson,  he 
slew  more  dying  than  when  he  was 
alive.  The  Temple  of  Error  is  over- 
thrown, the  tree  of  gospel  liberty  is 
watered  by  the  blood  of  its  martyrs; 
thus  has  it  ever  been  from  the  time  of 
the  proto-marlyr  to  him  of  Erromanga. 
Every  stroke  received  is  a  victory 
gained,  every  death  a  triumph.  The 
sacrificing  spirit  of  the  brave  Eoman 
lived  in  his  immediate  descendants  and 
fired  a  whole  nation  with  the  love  of 
heroic  deeds;  it  is  so  with  the  Christian 
hero,  and  to  much  better  purpose. 
Living  he  was  located;  his  sphere  of 
usefulness  was  limited;  now  he  possess- 
es a  ubiquity  of  presence;  he  is  every- 
where animating  the  Church  of  God  by 
his  example;  and  she  is  animated;  the 
spot  where  he  fell  becomes  a  recognized 
part  of  her  possessions. 


EELIGIOUS    ALLEGOEIES. 


MATTHEW, 
Chap,  x: 

verse  38. 


2  TIMOTHY, 

Cha}).  iii: 
verse  12. 


GALATIAXS, 

Chap,  vi : 
verse  12. 


PHILLIPPI'NS, 

Chap,  iii: 
verse  18. 


2  TIMOTHY, 

Chap,  ii: 
verse  12. 


MATTIIE\y, 

Chap,  xix: 
verses  21,  22. 


MATTHEW, 

Chap,  xvi: 
verse  24. 


IlEBEEWS, 

Chap,  xii: 
verse  2. 


NO  CROSS,  NO  CROWN. 

Whosoever,  therefore,  shall  be  ashamed  of  me,  of  him  shall  the  ^on 
of  Man  be  ashamed.     Mark  viii :  38. 


8«E  where  the  Cross  of  duty  stands  upright, 
Above  it,  shines  the  Crown  with  radiant  light; 
Right  in  the  narrow  way  the  Cross  it  stands, 
And  all  the  space  completely  it  commands; 
On  either  side  behold!  vast  rocks  arise, 
Expan<l  their  width,  and  reach  the  topmost  skies; 
See  numbeis  there,  who  fain  the  Crown  would  have. 
But  will  not  touch  the  Cross  their  souls  to  save; 


They  seek  some  other  way,  but 't  will  not  do, 
They  wander  on,  and  f  nd  eternal  woe. 

But  one  is  seen  advancing  right  ahead, 
.\nd  like  his  Lord — the  Cross  he  will  not  dread 
He  takes  it  up — 't  is  feathers — nothing  more, 
He  travels  onward  faster  than  before; 
He  loves  the  Cross,  nor  ever  lays  it  down, 
Till  he  receives  instead  the  starry  Crown. 


On  a  gently  rising  ground,  a  cross  |  either  side  they  extend  as  far  as  the 
of  somewhat  large  dimensions  is  seen  |  eye  can  reach.  Many  persons  are  seen 
to  stand  erect;  above  it,  and  suspended  '  going  round  the  base  of  the  mountain 
in  the  air.  a  briglit  crown  sparkles  chain;  their  object  ai)i)eiir8  to  be  to  get 
with  a  brilliant  light.     On   both   sides    the   Crown;    it"  is   theirs,  if   they  will 


of  the  Cross  rocks,  vast  and  precipitous, 
lift  uj)  their  tops   to   the    iieavensj    on 


but   get   it  according  to   the  coiuiition 
proposed.     They  have   been    trying  to 


26 


EELIGIOUS    ALLEGOEIES. 


go  tlirough  the  narrow  passage,  "but  the 
wooden  cross  blocks  up  the  entrance; 
they  never  think  of  moving  that, 
although  they  try  to  climb  the  mount- 
ain barrier,  which  is  much  more  diffi- 
cult. See!  one  is  now  attempting  to 
ascend,  but  it  is  all  in  vain ;  there  is  no 
other  waj'  than  through  the  chasm. 
Away  they  go,  wandering  round  and 
round ;  some  are  seen  falling  off  a 
precipice,  they  are  dashed  to  j)ieces ; 
others  lose  themselves  among  dark 
labyrinths,  and  some  are  torn  to  pieces 
by  wild  beasts.  All  come  to  a  bad  end; 
not  one  of  them  obtains  the  Crown. 

One,  however,  is  seen  alone,  march- 
ing up  to  the  terrible  Cross;  he  walks 
with  a  firm  step.  Decision  is  his  name; 
he  goes  right  up  to  the  Cross,  he  quickly 
throws  it  down ;  it  is  only  a  few  inches 
in  the  gix)und  ;  he  takes  it  up,  its  weight 
is  nothing,  for  it  is  hollow.  He  carries 
it  to  the  place  appointed,  lays  it  down, 
and  receives  the  glittering  Crown,  and 
bears  it  away  in  triumph. 

By  the  Cross  here  is  signified  re- 
ligious duties;  by  the  Crown,  immor- 
tality in  heaven;  those  who  pass  by  the 
Cross  and  wander  round  the  wall,  rep- 
resent those  who  think  of  heaven,  but 
neglect  duty;  the  man  who  boldly 
takes  up  tiie  Cross,  the  faithful  Chris- 
tian. Many  persons  think  about  heaven, 
who,  alas!  will  never  arrive  there;  nay, 
they  do  more,  they  actually  set  out  for 
it,  perhaps  make  a  ]n-ofession  of  re- 
ligion; they  do  not  like  the  idea  of  be- 
ing lost,  submit  to  a  partial  reformation, 
and  make  an  approach  toward  the  per- 
formance of  religious  duties.  They 
just  obtain  a  sight  of  them,  and  they 
are  frightened  ;  this  is  the  Cross.  What 
is  there  in  the  cross  so  dreadful?  Let 
us  see.  Of  all  who  present  themselves 
as  candidates  for  heaven,  it  is  required 
that  they  become  poor  in  spirit,  humble 
as  a  little  child,  penitent  for  «in,  "  per- 
fect and  pure,  as  he  is  pure ;"  that  they 
do  deny  self,  crucifv  the  flesh,  mortify 
the    body,    subdue    inordinate    desires, 


set  the  affections  on  things  above,  hun- 
ger and  thirst  after  righteousness,  for- 
give enemies,  submit  to  persecution 
for  Christ's  sake;  to  exercise  a  con- 
stant watchfulness  over  themselves,  and 
against  the  world  and  the  devil.  The 
hand,  if  it  offends,  must  be  cut  off — the 
eye  plucked  out. 

Thoy  are  told  of  the  straight  gate,' 
t-lie  narrow  way,  the  yoke,  the  burden, 
the  lace,  the  warfare,  etc.  Yea,  the 
whole  man  is  to  be  brought  under  new 
influences,  governed  by  new  principles, 
and  to  live  for  new  ends.  Self-denial, 
self-discipline,  and  self-conquest,  are 
made  indispensable  prerequisites  for  the 
kingdom  of  heaven.  This  is  the  Cross  ; 
it  stands  in  the  path  of  life;  to  pro- 
ceed, it  must  be  embraced.  Christ  is 
"the  way"  to  God.  His  atonement,  ex- 
ample, doctrines,  commandments;  there 
is  no  other  way,  there  can  be  no  other ; 
a  wall  of  adamant,  wide  as  earth,  high 
as  heaven,  meets  us  iu  our  attempts  to 
find  one,  on  which  stands  inscribed,  in 
letters  of  light,  "He  that  en-tereth  not 
by  the  door,  but  climbeth  up  some 
other  way,  the  same  is  a  thief  and  a 
robber." 

Eeligious  duties  are  irksome  and  dis- 
agreeable to  the  carnal  mind;  to  the 
unconverted;  it  is  their  nature  to  be 
so.  By  them  a  man  may  know  what 
he  is,  whether  he  is  converted  or  not; 
the  Cross  is  a  mirror.  Eeligious  duties 
are  imposed,  not  that  by  performing 
tliem  we  may  earn  a  title  to  heaven, 
but  because  they  are  necessary  for  the 
purification  of  our  moral  nature,  through 
the  grace  of  Christ,  that  we  may  be- 
come meet  to  be  partakers  of  the  in- 
heritance of  the  Saints  in  light.  To 
neglect  the  Cross  is  to  neglect  all ;  it  is 
to  go  to  the  feast  without  the  wedding 
garment;  it  is  to  go  forth  to  meet  the 
bridegroom  without  light  and  without 
oil  in  our  vessels. 

AVe  may  substitute  something  else 
for  the  Ci-'oss,  such  as  morality,  philos- 
oiihy,    or   even   works  of  j^ainful  pen- 


EELIGIOTJS    ALLEGORIES. 


nance.  It  will  be  all  in  vain;  as  long  as  ^e 
continue  unwashed,  unjustified,  unsanctified, 
we  are  unsafe — in  momentary  danger  of  hell 
fire.  There  is  no  neutrality  in  this  war.  In 
revolutions  of  States  and  Empires,  those  who 
do  not  take  up  arms  against  the  foe,  are  deemed 
as  enemies;  it  is  so  here.  "He  that  is  not 
with  me  is  against  me,  and  he  that  gathereth 
not  with  me  scattereth  abroad."  This  is  the 
conclusion  of  the  whole  matter.  When  Christ 
comes  to  judge  the  world,  all  who  will  not 
now  take  up  the  Cross  will  be  regarded  as 
enemies;  instead  of  the  Crown  they  will  have 
the  curse;  instead  of  heaven  everlasting  fire 
with  the  Devil  and  his  angels. 

Hence  it  is  that  so  many  "  draw  back  to 
perdition."  Ignorant  of  the  great  principles 
of  religion,  of  its  power  to  save,  they  wear  it 
AS  a  cloak  to  hide  the  deformity  within;  so 
inadequate  are  their  conceptions  of  its  excel- 
lency, that  they  will  not  sacrifice  a  single  lust, 
a  momentary  gratification,  one  darling  idol, 
to  insure  the  "eternal  weight  of  glory"  which 
it  promises. 

"iVb  Cross  no  Crown  !^'  Some  of  the  early 
disciples  of  the  great  Messiah,  when  the  spirit- 
ual nature  of  Christianity  was  presented  to 
them,  were  "offended."  Their  carnal  stomachs 
loathed  "the  bread  which  came  down  from 
heaven."  Companions  of  the  world,  they  re- 
jected the  "fellowship  with  the  Father,  and 
with  the  Son,  Jesus  Christ;  the  Cross  dis- 
pleased them,  and  with  their  own  hands  they 
inscribed  their  names  with  those  "who  having 
put  their  hand  to  the  plow,  looked  back,  and 
60' became  unfit  for  the  kingdom  of  God." 

No  Cross,  no  Crown  !"  See  !  that  young  man 
running  toward  the  great  Teacher;  what  can 
he  want  with  him  ?  He  is  a  noble  man,  a 
ruler  of  the  J«ws.  Strange  sight,  indeed,  to 
see!  A  ruler  of  the  Jews  running  after  the 
despised  Gallilean.  "What  is  his  business? 
He  inquires  about  the  way  to  heaven;  he 
seems  a  good  deal  in  earnest;  he  rune,  and 
kneels  at  the  Savior's  feet;  listen  to  him.  O, 
says  he,  "what  shall  I  do  that  T  may  inherit 
eternal  life?"     "Take  up  tlie  Crosa,  uud  thou 


shalt  have  treasure  in  heaven,"  said  the  Savior, 
as  he  looked  kindly  upon  him.  The  young 
man  looks  "  sad,"  he  is  "  sad,"  and  't  is  a  "  sad  " 
sight  to  see.  He  wants  the  "treasure  in 
heaven,"  but  he  wont  take  up  the  Cross,  and 
they  go  together;  God  has  joined  them,  and 
what  God  has  joined  no  man  can  put  asunder. 
He  looks  at  the  Savior  again  inquiringly, 
as  much  as  to  say,  "Is  there  no  other  way?' 
The  Savior  understands  him;  he  points  him 
to  the  Cross  again,  saying,  "Except  a  man 
deny  himself,  and  take  up  his  Cross,  he  can 
not  be  my  disciple."  Fearful  crisis,  what  will 
he  do?  The  Savior  is  looking  at  him;  the 
dLsciples,  the  multitude  standing  around;  God, 
the  holy  angels,  glorified  spirits,  all  are  look- 
ing; yea,  hell  is  looking  on  this  spectacle! 
AVhat  IS  tlie  issue?  0,  dreadful  infatuation! 
"heaven  that  hour  let  fall  a  tear."  He  who 
knew  the  commandments  by  heart,  and  who 
had  kept  them  from  his  youth  up,  he  turns 
his  back  on  Christ  and  heaven,  and  goes  away 
"sorrowful,"  to  be  yet  more  "sorrowful"  long 
as  eternal  ages  roll. 

Have  the  Cross  and  have  the  Crown.  Look 
again  at  that  young  man  walking  boldly  up 
to  the  Cross  ;  he  lays  hold  of  it,  exclaiming, 
"When  I  am  weak  then  am  I  strong;  I  can 
do  all  things  through  Christ  strengthening 
me."  He  finds  it  "easy"  and  "light,"  pleas- 
ant delightful;  he  bears  it  faithfully  in  palaces 
and  in  prisons,  in  the  wilderness  and  jji  the  city,, 
on  the  sea  and  on  the  land,  among  Jew  and 
Greek,  Barbarian  and  Scythian,  Bond  and 
Free,  every-where  exclaiming,  as  he  goes, 
"God  forb/d  that  I  should  glory  save  in  the 
Cross  of  my  Lord  and  Sav.ior  Jesus  Christ;" 
and  having  carried  it  the  appointed  time,  he 
lays  it  at  the  Savior's  feet  singing  triumph- 
antly— 


"I  have  fought  a  good  fight; 
I  have  finished  my  course; 
I  have 'kept  the  faith; 
Henceforth  there  is  laid  up 
For  mo  A  Ckown  of  iUuuiEorsNESS." 


28 


EELIGIOUS    ALLEGOEIES. 


1  CHRONICLES, 

Chap,  xvi: 

verse  35. 


LUKE, 

Chap,  xix: 

verse  10. 


PSxlLM 

Ixix: 
verse  15. 


MATTHEW, 

Chap,  viii: 

verse  25. 


2  SAMUEL, 

Chap,  xxii: 

verse  17. 


ACTS, 

Chap,  ii: 
verse  2. 


'JJ?  ACTS, 

Ohap.  xxvii: 
verse  31. 


PSALM 

cvii: 
verse  28. 


THE  LIFE-BOAT. 

They  cry  unto  the  Lord  in  their  trouble,  and  he  bringeth  them  out 
of  their  distresses.  Ps.  cvii:  28. Then  the  waters  had  over- 
whelmed us.     Ps.     cxxiv:  4. 


LowD  yell  the  winds  escaped  from  cives  beneath, 
And  summon  Ocean  to  the  Feast  of  death; 
Ocean  obeys,  high  lifts  his  hoary  head, 
With  fearful  roar,  impatient  to  be  fed; 
With  maddened  rage  his  mountain  billows  rise, 
An!  shake  the  earth  and  threaten  e'en  the  skies; 
See  the  poor  bark  engulfed,  with  precious  freight, 
Who,  who  can  save  her  from  impending  fate? 
Old  Ocean  strikes  her  with  tremendous  shock, 
And,  oh!  she's  stranded  on  a  sunken  rock. 
Horror  and  grief  now  seize  the  hapless  crew, 


To  hope  and  life  they  bid  a  last  adieu; 
Thousands  on  shore  behold  their  awful  plight, 
But  can  not  save  them;  'tis  a  piteous  sight. 

At  tills  dread  crisis,  on  the  mountain  wave 
Is  seen  a  '^  Li/e-J3oat.''  with  intent  to  save; 
Onwai-d  she  dashes  o'er  that  sea  of  strife, 
Buoyant,  and  hopeful,  'tis  a  thing  of  life; 
She  makes  the  wreck,  and  from  its  drifting  spars, 
She  takes  on  bo-ird  the  drifting  mariners; 
Trip  after  trip  she  makes — with  mercy  fraught — 
Till  they  are  safely  carried  into  port. 


Here  is  portrayed  the  life-boat  hast-    confined  so  long.     Ocean  is  summoned 


cningto  the  rescue;  the  winds,  escaped 
from  their  prison-house,  issue  forth, 
roaring    indignantly    at    having    been 


to  the  feast  of  death ;  Neptune  obex's 
the  summons ;  instantly  he  is  all  com- 
motion,   stirred    up    from    his    loweat 


KELIGIOUS    ALLEGOEIES. 


20 


depths,  impatient  to  satiate  his  devour- 
ing appetite;  he  dashes  his  billows 
against  the  earth;  he  assails  the  very 
heavens.  Behold  the  frail  ship  exposed 
to  all  the  fury  of  his  rage ;  she  is  laden 
with  precious  treasure.  Her  ruin  ap- 
pears inevitable.  Loud  roars  Neptune ; 
loud  roar  the  winds ;  loud,  too,  snap 
and  crack  the  cordage  and  the  sails; 
high  rises  the  mountain  sui'f.  The  bark 
"mounts  up  to  the  heaven,"  deep  yawns 
the  gulf  beneath;  she  goes  down  again 
into  the  depths;  the  crew  are  "at  their 
wits  end,"  their  soul  is  melted  because 
of  trouble.  Bat  instead  of  calling  "  uj^on 
the  Lord  in  their  trouble,"  that  he 
might  "bring  them  out  of  their  dis- 
tresses," they  drink  and  are  drunken. 
Still  the  waves  and  the  billows  go  over 
them;  at  length  a  mountain  wave 
dashes  the  vessel  on  a  sunken  rock, 
she  falls  to  pieces  ;  the  men  cling  to 
masts,  spars,  and  broken  pieces ;  despair 
sits  on  every  , countenance  ;  multitudes 
from  the  shore  behold  the  catastrophe, 
but  can  not  succor.  Lamentable  sight ! 
At  this  appalling  moment,  "when  all 
hope  of  their  being  saved  is  taken  away, 
the  Life-boat  is  launched  into  the  ter- 
rific ocean.  Will  not  she  also  fall  a 
prey  to  the  watery  monster?  See!  she 
lives  above  the  waves;  her  gallant  crew 
impel  her  forward;  on  she  dashes;  she 
leaps  from  billow  to  billow;  soon  she 
roaches  the  wreck,  and  begins  her  work 
of  mercy.  Quickly  she  takes  the  drown- 
ing wretches  from  the  drifting  spars, 
giving  back  to  them  life  and  hope. 
Some,  indeed,  not  yet  sobered,  will  not 
be  saved;  others  in  the  same  condition 
take  the  "life-preservers"  for  pirates, 
that  have  come  to  take  and  sell  them 
for  slaves,  therefore  refuse  to  leave  the 
raft.  No  time  is  to  be  lost.  All  they 
can,  they  receive  on  board,  and  carry 
Hafely  into  port,  amid  the  acclamations 
of  the  multitude. 

O,  what  is  this  but  a  picture  of  the 
goodness  of  our  God  in  Christ,  in  es- 
taolishins:    his   Church    on    the    earth. 


The  tempestuous  sea  is  the  world ;  the 
wreck  is  man ;  the  life-boat  is  the 
Church;  and  the  multitudes  on  shore 
may  represent  the  heavenly  host,  who 
look  with  interest  into  the  aifairs  of 
man's  redemption. 

The  world  is  indeed  a  "troubled  sea," 
a  tempestuous  ocean ;  it  is  raised  into 
fury  by  the  breath  or  spirit  of  the  "evil 
one,"  "the  Prince  of  the  power  of  the 
air,"  who,  having  esca2:>ed  from  his 
prison-house,  the  "bottomless  pit,"  de- 
scends in  great  wrath  and  summons  all 
the  powers  of  evil  to  aid  him  in  the 
destruction  of  mankind.  Here  rolls  the 
waves  of  Profanity,  there  those  of  im- 
purity; here  dash  with  fury  the  break- 
ers of  Revenge,  there  rise  impetuous  the 
mountain  billows  of  Pride;  on  the  right 
are  seen  the  rocks  of  Infidelity;  on  the 
left  the  quicksands  of  Destruction  ;  while 
the  whirlpools  of  Mammon  abound  in 
every  part. 

Man,  shipwrecked  by  the  first  trans- 
gression, is  cast  upon  this  troubled  sea, 
exposed  to  all  it  dangers;  ignorant  and 
helpless,  he  is  "tossed  upon  life's  stormy 
billows."  AVave  after  Avave  rolls  him 
onward  to  destruction;  the  whirlpool 
opens  Avide  its  mouth  to  "swallow  him 
whole,  as  those  that  go  down  into  the 
pit."  Is  all  lost?  Must  he  become  a 
pi*ey  to  the  devouring  elements?  Ah  ! 
is  there  no  eye  to  pity?  no  arm  to 
save?  Oh,  divinecompassion !  "Godso 
loved  the  world,"  that  the  Life-boat  is 
launched;  Jesus  is  in  the  midst  of  her; 
he  guides  her  movements;  his  disciples 
form  the  crew ;  they  encounter  the  storm 
that  Satan  raised;  they  spring  from 
wave  to  wave,  from  billow  to  billow. 

"With  cries,  entreaties,  tears,  to  save, 
And  snatch  them  from  the  gaping  grave" 

They  take  sinners  from  off  the  waves 
that  are  bearing  them  on  to  death,  and 
place  their  feet  upon  the  Hock  of  Sal- 
vation. Some  arc  too  proud  to  acoept 
deliverance ;  such  are  left  in  their  sad 
condition. 


30 


RELIGIOUS    ALLEGORIES 


To  speak  without  a  figure,  the  Lord  Jesus 
Christ  has  established  his  church  upon  the 
earth,  for  the  salvation  of  men.  This  is  the 
proper  business  of  the  church,  even  as  of  the 
life-boat,  to  save  men;  its  sacraments,  ordi- 
nances, and  various  means  of  grace,  all  lead- 
ing to  Christ,  the  Savior,  are  well  adapted  to 
do  this;  and  when  used  aright,  they  never 
fail  to  insure  salvation.  Believe,  love,  obey; 
"  this  do,  and  you  shall  live." 

And  whereas  the  usefulness  of  the  "Z/(/e- 
boat''  consisted  in  having  her  bottom  and 
sides  hollow  and  filled  with  air,  so  the  useful- 
ness of  the  Church  depends  upon  her  being 
filled  with  the  Holy  Spirit,  with  the  atmos- 
phere of  heaven  ;  and  as  boats  not  made  air- 
tight fail  to  be  useful  in  the  storm,  and  prove 
the  destruction  of  those  who  venture  in  them, 
in  like  manner  Churches  lacking  the  atmos- 
phere of  heaven,  being  destitute  of  the  power 
of  the  Holy  Ghost,  fail  in  being  serviceable  to 
the  souls  of  men,  and  sink  into  the  "dead 
sea"  of  forms  and  ceremonies. 

The  Church  of  Christ,  that  is,  a  company 
of  true  believers,  being  filled  with  the  Holy 
Spirit,  become  inflamed  with  zeal,  and  animated 
with  love  for  perishing  sinners.  The  love  of 
Christ  constraineth  them,  for  they  thus  judge: 
if  Clirist  died  for  all,  then  were  all  dead;  and 
that  he  died  for  all,  that  they  which  live  should 
not  henceforth  live  unto  themselves,  but  unto 
him  that  died  for  them  and  rose  again.  In 
seeking  to  save  souls,  they  seek  Christ's  honor 
and  glory,  by  establishing  his  dominion  on  the 
eartli;  daily  the  Church,  influenced  thus,  makes 
efforts  for  the  salvation  of  men;  her  grand 
effort  is  on  the  Sabbath  day.  On  this  day 
worldly  business  is  laid  aside;  the  Angel  of 
Mercy  rings  her  bell  around  the  earth;  the 
Embassadors  of  heaven  appear,  and  issue  their 
proclamation  unto  the  children  of  men;  life 
and  immortality  are  oflered  without  money 
and  without  price;  Mercy  is  active  on  the 
earth.  Fountains  of  living  waters  are  opened 
in  dry  places;  heaven's  gates  are  thrown  wide 
open,  and  streams  of  light  and  love  issue  from 
the  King  of  Gloi-y.     Every-where  sinners,  per- 


ishing sinners,  are  affectionately  invited  to  es- 
cape from  their  sins,  and  take  refuge  beneath 
the  sanctuary  of  the  Most  Holy.  "Wisdom" 
herself  "uttereth  her  voice  in  the  streets;  she 
crieth  in  the  chief  place  of  concourse,  in  the 
opening  of  the  gates;  in  the  city  she  uttereth 
her  words,  saying.  How  long,  ye  simple  ones, 
will  ye  love  simplicity,  and  the  scorners  de- 
light in  their  scorning,  and  fools  hate  knowl- 
edge."    Nevertheless, 

"Millions  are  shipwrecked  on  life's  stormy  coast. 
With  all  their  charts  on  board,  and  powerful  aid; 
Because  their  lofty  pride  disdained  to  learn 
The  instructions  of  a  pilot  and  a  God." 

As  we  saw  in  the  case  of  the  wreck,  that 
some  actually  refused  to  enter  the  life-boat,  so 
it  is  with  sinners;  alas!  alas!  that  it  is  so; 
they,  too,  are  intoxicated,  "drunken,  but  not 
with  wine;"'  sin  has  intoxicated  them;  they 
are  beside  themselves.  Some  will  not  yield 
their  heart  to  God,  and  be  saved,  simply  because 
they  will  not;  others  do  not  believe  the  record 
God  has  given  of  his  Son,  and  continue  ex- 
posed to  the  damnation  of  those  "that  believe 
not."  Others,  again,  mistrust- the  motives  of 
the  pious,  who  seek  to  lead  them  from  the  way 
of  death,  and  think  they  want  only  to  bring 
them  into  bondage;  and  as  the  mariners  had 
power  to  remain  on  the  wreck  and  be  drowned, 
so  the  sinner  has  power  to  continue  in  his  sins 
and  be  damned.  Awful  power!  fearful  re- 
sponsibility !  and  yet  if  man  be  not  free,  "  how 
shall  God  judge  the  world." 

The  Church,  however,  as  a  spiritual  Life- 
boat, continues  her  benevolent  excursions,  and 
daily  lands  some  saved  ones  at  the  port  of 
glory;  and  when  she  shall  have  made  her 
last  trip,  through  that  tempest  that  shall  make 
a  wreck  of  earth,  then  shall  arise  from  countless 
myriads  the  song  of  triumph  and  of  praise ; 

"Blessing,  and  honor,  and  glory,  and  power, 
Be  unto  him  that  silteth  upon  the  throne, 
And  unto  the  Lamb,  forever  and  CTer." 


RELIGIOUS    ALLEGORIES. 


31 


PROVERBS, 

Chap,  i: 
verse  7. 


OBEDIENCE 


VV  ISDOM 


MATTHEW, 

Chap,  v: 
verse  11. 


1  CORINTH'NS, 
Chap,  ii: 
verse  14. 


PROVERBS, 

Chap,  xiv: 

verse  16. 


1  CORIjS"TH'NS, 
Chap,  i: 
verse  18. 


OBEDIENCE  AND  WISDOM. 


JEREMIAH, 

Chap,  ix: 
verse  5. 


_        DEUTERO'MY, 
Chap,  iv: 
verses  30,  31 


PSALM 

xc: 
verse  12. 


For  the  vnsdom  of  this  v^orld  is  foolishness  luith  God.     1  Cor.  iiT: 

19. If  they  have  called  the  Master  of  the  house  Beelzebub,  how 

much  more  shall  they  call  them  of  his  household^     Matt,  x:  25. 


Here  is  Self-Will,  so  called  by  men  below, 
Struggling  alone  his  upward  path  to  go; 
Though  steep  and  rugged  he  will  persevere; 
The  way  he  knows  is  right,  then  wherefore  fear 
His  friends  and  foes  alike  pronounce  him  mad; 
Wis  friemh  are  sorry,  but  \\\s  foes  are  glad; 
One  pulls  him  by  the  skirt  to  keep  him  back, 
Another  runs  before  to  cross  his  track; 
One  with  a  club  resolves  to  stop  his  course, 
And  right  or  wrong,  to  bring  him  back  b^v  force; 
But  they  are  wrong,  and  wrong  the  title  given. 


Self-will  on  earth — Obedience  is  in  heaven. 

Next  Folly,  nicknamed,  here  is  seen  to  rise 
And  climb  the  path  that  leads  to  yonder  skies; 
Honors  and  shining  gold  his  pathway  cross. 
Yet  he  esteems  them  but  ns  dung  and  drofs; 
Old-fashioned  things  prefers,  o'ergrown  with  rust, 
And  stars  and  garters  tramples  in  the  dust. 
Judging  the  man  by  earth's  acknowledged  rule, 
The"lookers-on  denounce  him  for  a  fool; 
The  world  is  wrong  again,  the  man  is  right. 
His  name  is  Wisdom  in  the  realms  of  light. 


In  this  picture,  on  the  one  hand,  is 
seen  a  man  nrc^inci;  his  way  up  a  steep 
and  rufi^ged  path ;  his  name  is  recorded. 
He  is  opposed,  still  he  doggedly  perse- 


veres; friends  and  foes  alike  are  aston- 
ished at  his  proceedings.  The  former 
are  grieved,  the  latter  rejoice  at  the 
prospect  of  his  certain  ruin.     Some  of 


32 


EELIGIOUS    ALLEGOKIES. 


his  friends  are  determined  to  arrest  his 
progress ;  one  seizes  hold  of  him  by  the 
skirt,  another,  more  intent,  tries  to  get 
ahead  of  him  in  order  to  stop  him ;  a 
third,  yet  more  violent,  pursues  him 
with  a  bludgeon,  and  is  determined,  if 
fair  means  fail,  to  employ  force.  Nev- 
ertheless, he  obstinately  persists  in  the 
path  he  has  chosen  ;  he  believes  it  to 
be  right;  he  will  not  give  in.  They 
employ  threats  and  promises,  but  all  to 
no  purpose ;  out  of  all  patience  with 
him,  they  use  up  a  whole  vocabulary 
of  opprobrious  epithets.  He  is  self- 
willed,  obstinate,  stubborn,  etc. ;  one 
by  one,  however,  at  length  they  leave 
him,  and  go  about  their  business,  and 
the  man,  no  longer  molested,  goes  along 
the  way  which  to  him  appears  to  be 
right,  and  which  he  is  determined  to 
follow. 

On  the  other  hand,  one  is  seen  press- 
ing forward  up  a  rough  and  difficult 
pass;  his  name,  also,  is  apparent.  On 
his  path  lie  scattered,  profusely,  Hiches 
and  Honors  of  various  kinds;  there  is 
the  trumpet  of  Fame,  with  stars  and 
garters,  and  many  other  things  of  equal 
value;  these  appear  to  be  at  his  com- 
mand; he  may  ride  in  a  coach  drawn 
by  six  beautiful  horses,  and  yet  he  pre- 
fers to  toil  and  tug  along  that  rough 
road  on  foot.  This  strange  conduct  ex- 
cites the  scorn,  ridicule,  and  laughter  of 
those  who  behold  him;  they  denounce 
him  as  a  fool;  they  know  that  they 
would  act  very  differently,  and  they  are 
wise  men.  The  man,  however,  regard- 
less alike  of  their  scorn  and  jests,  goes 
his  own  way;  and  after  awhile  they 
go  theirs. 

The  traveler  here,  called  Self-will 
represents  the  Christian,  or  man  of 
Piety,  in  every  age;  the  steep  and  rug- 
ged way,  Christian  conduct;  the  trav- 
eler's ojiponents,  the  Ciiristian's  adver- 
saries, or  men  of  the  world.  The  Chris- 
tian is  one  who  is  anointed  with  the 
Spirit  of  Christ;  he  receives  a  heaven- 
ly call;  he  is  not  disobedient  thereto; 


he  knows  in  whom  and  in  what  he  be- 
lieves. The  path  he  is  commanded  to 
follow  may  be  a  difficult  one,  very  dif- 
ficult to  ilesh  and  blood;  it  is  a  new 
and  a  strange  way;  it  is  so  to  himself 
in  many  respects,  but  God  has  called 
him  to  walk  in  it,  he  will  obey.  He 
walks  by  faith,  not  by  sight,  merely. 
His  friends  become  alarmed  at  his  con- 
duct, and  at  first  approach  him  with 
tenderness,  beseeching  him  to  give  up 
his  new-fangled  notions;  though  he 
loves  them  sincerely,  he  can  not,  he 
dare  not  jield  to  their  solicitations. 
They  remonstrate,  they  threaten,  but 
all  in  vain;  he  is  determined,  nothing 
will  move  him;  he  even  invites  them  to 
go  with  him;  nothing  would  give  him 
greater  satisfaction  than  to  have  them 
for  companions;  they  will  not  be  per- 
suaded, and  mourning  over  what  they 
consider  his  self-will  and  stubbornness, 
permit  him,  at  length,  to  have  his  own 
way. 

Others,  of  a  more  hostile  character, 
but  equally  blind,  who  know  nothing 
of  the  Christian's  motives  and  aims, 
who  put  darkness  for  light,  and  light 
for  darkness,  call  sweet  bitter  and  bit- 
ter sweet,  beset  the  man  with  foul  and 
abusive  language.  They  revile  and 
slander  him,  they  maltreat  and  perse- 
cute him;  they  believe  him  to  be  an 
obstinate,  stupid  fellow — one  who  will 
have  his  own  way  at  all  hazards. 

The  man  of  God  endures  all  things, 
and  hopes  all  things;  he  pra^^s  for  those 
who  oppose  him;  he  gives  them  good 
advice,  and  tells  them,  ''As  for  me  and 
my  house,  we  will  serve  the  Lord." 
But  God  sees  not  as  man  sees;  heaven 
approves  of  his  conduct;  hallelujahs  re- 
sounded above  when  first  he  started  on 
the  way;  new  shouts  of  angelic  ap- 
plause might  have  been  heard  when  he 
persisted  to  walk  in  it.  God  has  en- 
rolled his  name  among  his  obedient 
ones,  and  when  earth's  records,  doings? 
and  opinions  shall  be  no  more,  he  will 
receive,    amid    ten  thousand   thousand 


EELIGIOTJS    ALLEGOEIES. 


33 


witnesses,  the  welcome  plaudit  of  "  Well  done, 
good  and  faithful  servant,  enter  thou  into  the 
joy  of  thy  Lord." 

A  wonderful  example  of  what  the  world 
calls  self-will  lived  many  years  since.  An  old 
man,  who  knew  nothing  about  the  business, 
took  it  into  his  head  to  turn  shipwright  and 
build  a  ship.  Such  a  thing  had  never  been 
heard  of;  of  such  enormous  dimensions,  too, 
that  is  was  very  clear  there  could  not  be  water 
enough  to  float  it;  and  a  thousand  idle  things 
were  said  about  the  old  man  and  his  wild  and 
willful  undertaking.  Yet  he  was  self-willed 
day  after  day  found  him  at  his  work;  he  knew 
what  he  was  about,  he  knew  who  had  com- 
manded him;  he  doubted  not  but  that  there 
would  be  water  enough  to  float  his  ship  by 
and  by,  nor  was  he  mistaken.  His  obedience 
had  its  full  reward,  and  the  lone  Ark,  floating 
majestically  on  the  world  of  waters,  testified 
that  it  was  wiser  and  better  to  obey  God  than 
ma^n. 

The  man  Folly,  his  path,  and  the  treatment 
he  'meets  with,  serve  also  to  illustrate  Chris- 
tian character.  The  Christian  is  called  to  for- 
sake home  and  friends,  houses  and  lands,  riches 
and  honors,  whenever  they,  in  any  measure, 
stand  in  the  way  of  duty.  The  heavenly  com- 
mission he  has  received  makes  it  incumbent 
on  him  to  deny  self,  take  up  his  cross,  to  bear 
the  yoke,  and  to  become  a  pilgrim  in  the  world. 
He  is  faithful  to  his  calling.  Pleasure  courts 
him,  but  he  embraces  her  not.  Wealth  en- 
tices, but  he  consents  not.  Honors  and  glories 
solicit  him,  but  all  in  vain.  He  rejects  them 
all.  He  will  not  have  a  clog  to  his  soul.  He 
is  free,  and  he  knows  the  value  of  his  freedom. 
The  poor  slaves  of  sin  and  earth  know  no  more 
of  the  man  and  his  pursuits  than  of  the  angel 
Gabrial  and  his  employments  in  paradise.  To 
them,  this  spurner  of  gold,  the  rejecter  of 
Honors,  this  trampler  on  earth,  is  a  fool  and  a 
madman;  he  is  beside  himself,  and  so  he  is 
denounced  acconlingly.  They  judge  of  him 
and  his  conduct  by  tiie  rules  of  earth,  but  he 
follows  another  standard.  As  well  might  the 
oyster  buried  in  the  sand  attempt  to  pass  judg- 
ment on  the  towering  eagel  when  he  flies  on 
the  wings  of  the  storm,  mounts  and  mingles 
with  the  new-born  light,  and  rejoices  in  the 
boundlessness  of  space. 

The  Christian  rejects  what  he  knows  upon 
the  authority  of  Truth,  and  the  God  of  Truth, 


to  be  worthless  in  themselves,  unsatisfactory 
in  their  nature,  and  transitory  in  their  contin- 
uance. He  receives  and  holils  fast  what  is 
invaluable,  satisfying,  and  eternal.  And  when 
the  light  of  the  last  conflagration  shall  reveal 
the  secrets  of  all  hearts,  and  declare  the  value 
of  all  things,  then  will  it  be  seen  that  the 
Christian  has  governed  himself  according  to 
the  rules  of  the  highest   Wisdom. 

Thus  it  was  with  the  man  of  meekness;  he 
gave  up  kingship  and  royalty,  and  formed  an  al- 
liance with  a  troop  of  slaves;  he  relinquished 
the  splendors  of  a  court  for  the  terrors  of  a 
desert — a  life  of  luxurious  ease  for  one  of  peril 
and  fatigue.  By  the  men  of  his  generation 
his  conduct  was  regarded  as  foolish  and  absurd; 
but  his  appearance  on  the  glorious  mount  of 
transfiguration,  as  an  Embassador  of  the  skies, 
encircled  with  the  splendors  of  heaven,  pro- 
claims to  the  world  that  ''the  fear  of  the  Lord 
is  the  beginning  of  Wisdom,"  and  the  love  of 
him  its  highest  consummation. 

Look  again  at  the  young  man  of  Tarsus; 
see  him  resign  the  professor's  chair  to  become 
a  teacher  of  barbarians.  The  ruler  of  the 
Jews  becomes  the  servant  of  the  Gentiles;  the 
friend  of  the  great  and  powerful  becomes  the 
companion  of  the  weak  and  contemptible;  the 
inmate  of  a  mansion  becomes  a  vagabond  on 
the  earth,  "having  no  certain  dwelling-place." 
He  embraces  hunger,  thirst,  and  nakedness; 
the  dungeon,  the  scourge,  and  the  ax.  The 
world  has  pronounced  its  verdict  upon  him — 
he  was  a  ''madman,"  "a  pest,"  "a  disturber 
of  the  public  peace,"  "a  ringleader  of  the  de- 
spised." The  case,  however,  is  pending  in  a 
higher  court,  and  when  those  who  "  sleep  in 
the  dust  of  the  earth  shall  awake,"  and  Paul, 
''  shining  as  the  brightness  of  the  firmament," 
takes  rank  among  the  ^^wise"  the  verdict  of 
heaven  will  have  been  recorded. 

"Wisdom  is  humble,  said  the  voice  of  God, 
'T  is  proud,  the  world  replied.    Wisdom,  said  God, 
Forgives,  forbears,  and  suffers,  not  for  fear 
Of  man,  but  God.     Wisdom  revenges,  said 
The  world;   is  quick  and  deadly  of  resentment 
Thrusts  at  the  very  shadow  of  affront, 
And  hastes  by  Death  to  wipe  its  honor  clean. 
Wisdom,  said  God,  is  highest  when  it  stoops 
Lowest  before  the  Holy  Throne ;  throws  down 
Its  crown,  abased;  forgets  itself,  admires, 
And  breaths  adoring  praise." 


34 


EELIGIOUS    ALLEGORIES, 


PSALM 

xix: 
verse  13. 


2  PETEK, 
Chap,  ii : 
verse  10. 


NUMBERS, 
Chap.  XV : 
verse  30. 


DEUTERO'MY, 
Chap,  i : 
verse  43. 


DEUTEROMY, 

Chap,  xvii: 

verse  12. 


\  I  m  lii      coLossiAxs. 

Chap,  ii: 
verse  18. 


LEVITICUS, 

Chap,  x: 

verses  1,  2. 


ECCLESIASTS 
^^^  Chap,  viii: 

verse  11. 


DANGER  OF  PRESUMPTION. 

If  sinners  entice  thee,  consent  thou  not.     Prov.  i: 
not  unto  thine  own  understanding.     Prov.  iii:  5. 


10.- 


-Lean 


Behold  where  Winter  on  his  stormy  thi-one, 
With  icy  scepter  sways  the  world  alone; 
From  arctic  regions  fierce  the  whirlwinds  blow, 
And  earth,  all  shivering,  wears  her  robe  of  snow; 
The  leafless  forest  murmurs  to  the  blast, 
The  rushing  river  now  is  fettered  fast; 
And  clouds  and  shadows  settling  over  all, 
Wrap  lifeless  nature  in  her  funeral  pall. 
Some  youths  now  hasten  to  the  frozen  lake, 
And  ou  to  school  their  way  with  pleasure  take; 


Nor  go  alone,  but  others  they  entice 

With  them  to  frolic  on  tlie  slippery  ice; 

The  wiiy  is  pleasant,  smoother  far  to  go, 

Than  o'er  the  mountain  through  the  drifted  snow; 

One,  and  one  only,  makes  a  wiser  choice. 

He  will  not  hea'rken  unto  Pleasures  voice; 

Awhile  the  others  glide  along  the  lake. 

When  all  at  once  the  ice  begins  to  break; 

In — in  they  plunge !    In  vain  their  piteous  tones — 

The  waters  quickly  hush  their  gurgling  groans. 


Here  we  sec  the  dans^er  of  presump- 
tion— the  fruits  of  disobedience.  It 
was  a  winter's  day;  the  snow  had  fall- 
en, and  earth  was  clad  in  her  robes  of 
white;    the    north    wind    had    moaned 


through  the  forest,  and  the  ponds  and 
rivers  were  partly  frozen  over.  Some 
village  school-boys,  about  to  start  for 
the  school-house,  which  was  situated 
at  some  distance  on  the  other  side  of 


EELIGIOUS    ALLEGORIES 


35 


a  mountain,  were  admonished  by  their 
parents  not  to  go  by  the  way  of  the 
lake  that  lay  round  the  foot  of  the 
mount;  the  parents  judging  it  to  be 
unsafe,  the  command  was  given  with 
all  possible  earnestness  and  tenderness. 
Well  would  it  have  been  for  the  boys 
had  they  obeyed;  as  soon  as  they  were 
out  of  sight,  Harry  whispered  to  Charles 
that  "it  would  be  more  pleasant  to  go 
by  the  way  of  the  lake  than  to  trudge 
it  over  the  mountain,  and  nobody  could 
know  any  thing  about  it."  After  a  few 
moments  pause  Charles  agreed;  others 
now  are  invited  tQ  accompany  them; 
"the  more  the  merrier,"  say  they;  one 
by  one  they  give  their  assent,  and  all, 
except  Samuel,  who  foi'got  not  his 
parents'  injunction,  and  who  preferred 
trudging  through  the  drifts  of  snow 
over  the  mountain  to  disobeying  his 
parents'  command;  all  resolve  to  take 
the  smoother  and  pleasanter  way  across 
the  lake.  They  doubt  not  but  it  will 
bear;  they  anticipate  a  fine  time;  they 
hesitate  not  to  trust  the  ice,  though 
they  will  not  trust  the  word  of  their 
parent:^.  On  they  venture ;  away  they 
glide  o'er  the  slippery  surface,  with  the 
wind  behind  them;  full  of  delight  they 
slide  along;  they  see  Samuel  working 
his  way  through  the  snow  ;  full  of  fun 
and  laughter,  they,  with  difficulty,  stop 
to  ridicule  him,  when  behold!  their  en- 
tire weight  is  more  thaji  the  ice  will 
bear;  suddenly  it  breaks;  in,  in  they 
go,  down!  down!  they  sink;  the  cold 
waters  close  over  them — they  are  lost. 
The  school-bell  rings,  but  they  are  not 
there;  one  onl}"  of  the  party  has  ai-rived 
to  tell  to  the  teacher  and  the  rest  of  the 
scholars  the  dismal  tale. 

From  the  commonest  events  in  life 
we  may  gather  instruction ;  the  bee 
disdains  not  to  gather  honey  from  the 
meanest  flower.  The  Almighty  is  the 
great  Parent  of  all,  the  Father  of  the 
spirits  of  all  that  11  ve ;  he  has  not  forgot- 
ten the  work  of  his  own  hands;  he  takes 
pleasure  in  the  security  and  happiness 
10 


of  his  children  ;  he  governs  the  world  by 
laws — fixed,  unalterable  laws — except 
when  he  alters  them  for  some  special 
purpose,  as  in  the  case  of  miracles.  His 
natural  laws  prevail  in  heavens  above, 
in  the  earth  beneath,  and  in  the  waters 
under  the  earth ;  the  law  of  gravita- 
tion by  which  a  body  unsupported  falls, 
exists  every-where,  extends  to  the  re- 
motest star  or  planet,  and  binds  all 
material  objects  to  a  common  center; 
the  law  of  motion,  by  which  a  body 
once  put  in  motion  continues  in  that 
state,  if  it  be  not  resisted  by  the  action 
of  an  external  cause;  these  laws  and 
others  govern  the  universe  of  matter, 
and  they  are  uniform.  Fire  always 
burns,  Avater  always  droM^ns,  and  ice 
supports  bodies  in  exact  projiortion  to 
its  quality  and  thickness. 

But  for  spirits,  God  has  given  laws 
that  are  s])lritual;  in  wisdom  he  has 
given  them  to  his  creatures;  these,  too, 
are  all  fixed  and  unalterable,  "Except 
ye  repent  ye  shall  perish."  The  way 
of  sin  always  leads  to  disgrace,  sorrow, 
and  eternal  death;  the  path  of  duty  or 
piety  always  to  honor,  happiness,  and 
everlasting  life;  they  have  always  done 
so,  they  ever  will  do  so;  God  has  ad- 
monished the  children  of  men  of  this 
truth;  he  has  plainly  pointed  out  the 
two  paths,  their  character,  tendency, 
and  end;  and,  having  done  this,  he, 
in  the  most  affectionate  manner,  urges 
us  to  follow  the  path  of  life.  "Be- 
hold!" says  he,  and  wonder  at  the  an- 
nouncement, '-I  set  before  you  Life  and 
Death,  Blessing  and  Cursing;  choose 
Life,  that  you  may  live." 

''Placed  for  his  trial  on  this  bustling  stage, 
From  thoughtless  youth  to  ruminating  age. 
Free  in  his  will  to  choose  or  to  refuse, 
Man  may  improve  the  crisis  or  abuse; 
Else,  on  the  fatalists  unrighteous  plan. 
Say  to  what  bar  amenable  were  man? 
With  naught  i-n  charge  he  could  betray  no 

trust; 
And  if  he  fell,  would  fall  because  he  must. 
If  Love  reward  him,  or  if  Vengeance  strike. 
His  recompense  in  both  unjust  alike. 


36 


EELIGIOUS    ALLEGORIES, 


Divine  authority  within  his  breast 
Brings  every  tliought,  word,  action  to  the  lest; 
AVarus  liiiu or  prompts,  reproves  him  or  restrains, 
As  reason,  or  as  passioti,  talies  tlie  reins; 
Heaven  from  above,  and  conscience  from  within, 
Cries  in  his  startled  ear — abstain  from  sin; 
Tlie  world  around  solicits  his  desire. 
And  kindles  in  his  soul  a  treacherous  fire; 
While  all  its  purposes  and  steps  to  guard, 
Peace  follows  virtue  as  its  sure  reward; 
And  Pleasure  brings  as  surely  in  her  train 
Remorse,  and  sorrow,  and  vindictive  pain." 

The  boys  who  broke  through  the  ice  and  per- 
Ishetl,  had  been  faitlifuily  warned;  the  two 
ways  had  been  distinctly  marked  out  to  them  ; 
they  fbUovved  their  own  course;  ihiiw presumed 
their  parents  might  not  know  every  tiling,  they 
might  not  know  liow  hard  it  liad  Irozen  dur- 
ing the  niglit;  that  the  ice  was  strong  enougli 
to  bear  tliem,  there  was  no  danger.  '  The  fact 
was,  the  way  of  duty  looked  diliicult,  and  the 
way  forbidden  easy  and  delightful;  they  had 
their  reward.  So  it  is  with  the  sinner,  man; 
he  presumes  that  he  may  violate  the  laws  of 
God  with  impunity,  that  he  will  not  punish, 
that  the  way  is  a  safe  one,  although  God  has 
said  "the  end  thereof  is  death."  The  truth 
is,  the  way  of  piety  eeenis  liard,  steep,  and 
difficult,  and  the  way  of  sin  smooth  and 
agreeable  to  his  carnal  nature;  hence,  he  ven- 
tures on,  at  first  with  diffidence,  afterward 
with  vain  confidence;  he  entices  others  to  ac- 
company him  in  his  sinful  pleasures;  this 
makes  it  more  cangerous;  they  strengthen 
each  other  in  wickedness,  but  "though  hand 
join  in  hand,  the  wicked  shall  not  go  unpun- 
ished." 

To  show  the  mfluence  of  bad  example,  and 
the  danger  of  presumption,  Baxter  has  related 
the  following  anecdote:  "A  man  was  driving 
a  flock  of  lilt  lambs,  and  something  meeting 
them  and  hindering  their  passage,  one  of  the 
lambs  leaped  upon  the  wall  of  the  bridge,  and 
his  legs  slipping  from  under  him,  he  fell  into 
the  stream;  the  rest  seeing  him,  did  as  he 
did;  one  after  another  leaped  over  the  bridge 
into  the  stream,  and  were  all,  or  almost  all, 
drowned.  Those  that  were  behind  did  little 
know  what  was  become  of  them  that  were  gone 
before,  but  thought  they  might  venture  to  fol- 
low their  companions;  but  as  soon  as  they 
were  over  the  wall,  and  falling  headlong,  the 
case  was  altered.  Even  so  it  is  with  uncon- 
verted carnal  men;  one  dieth  by  them  and 
drops  into  hell,  another  follows  the  same  way; 


and  yet  they  will  go  after  them,  because  they 
think  not  where  they  are  gone.  O,  but  when 
death  hath  once  opened  tiieir  eyes,  and  they 
see  what  is  on  the  other  side  of  the  wall,  even 
in  another  world,  then  what  would  they  give 
to  be  where  they  once  were." 

Last  Summer,  I  noticed  a  little  incident 
that  may  serve  to  illustrate  our  subject;  the 
same  thing,  no  doubt,  is  of  frequent  occur- 
rence. An  insect  had  entered  the  house  and 
was  upon  the  back  of  a  chair;  having  w-alked 
to  the  end,  it  very  circumspectly  employed  its 
feelers  above,  below,  and  all  around.  Ascer- 
tainining  that  the  side  was  slippery  and  pre- 
cipitous, it  turned  round  and  went  back 
again;  this  it  did  several  times,  nor  would  it 
leave  its  position  until  it  could  do  so  with 
safety.  And  yet  man — man  with  the  powers 
almost  of  an  angel — rushes  blimlly  on  to 
ruin. 

It  is  well  known  that  the  elephant,  when 
about  to  cross  a  bridge,  puts  its  foot  down  in- 
quiringly to  ascertain  its  strength,  nor  will  he 
jiroceed  unless  he  is  satisfied  the  bridge  is  suf- 
ficiently strong  to  support  him;  but  the  trans- 
gressor ventures  on  the  bridge  of  sin,  beneatli 
which  rolls  the  river  of  eternal  woe,  bearing 
with  him  the  weight  of  his  immortal  interests, 
the  "vast  concerns  of  an  eternal  state." 

By  the  laws  of  motion,  the  boy  sliding  or 
skating  on  the  ice  can  not  easily  stop  himself, 
and  sometimes  he  rushes  into  the  openings  or 
air-hole.s,  that  are  often  found  on  the  surface, 
and  meets  with  an  untimely  end. 

It  is  so  with  the  laws  of  sin;  the  sinner  in- 
creases his  momentum  as  he  advances;  from 
hearkening  to  the  counsel  of  the  "ungodly,"' 
he  proceeds  to  the  way  of  open  "sinners;"  a 
little  fiirtlicr  and  lie  sits  complacently  in  the 
sent  of  the  "scornful,"  Now  his  doom  is 
sealed  ! 

Thus  it  was  with  Babylon's  proud  king; 
not  content  with  having  been  an  idolater  all 
his  lift',  against  his  better  knowledge — for  the 
judgment  that  befel  his  forefather,  Nebuchad- 
nezzer,  must  have  instructed  him — would  ridi- 
cule the  true  religion,  he  would  insult  the 
majesty  of  heaven.  He  sends  for  the  sacred 
vessels  of  the  Sanctuary,  that  he  and  his  com- 
})anions  may  magnify  themselves  over  the  cap- 
tive tribes  of  Israel.  But  behold!  in  the  midst 
of  his  blasphemous  revelry,  the  Hand,  the 
terrible  hand,  appears,  and  the  presumptuous 
monarch,  after  having  seen  his  doom  recorded 
on  the  wall  of  his  own  palace,  is  suddenly  cut 
down,  and  his  kingdom  given  to  another. 


RELIGIOUS    ALLEGORIES. 


37 


JOSHITA, 

Chap,  xxiv 

verse  15. 


PSALM 

xxvii : 

verse  8. 


LUKE, 

Chap,  v: 

verse  28. 


ACTS, 
Chap.  XX : 
verse  24. 


EPHESIANS, 

Chap,  vi: 
verse  18. 


MATTHEW, 
Chap,  x: 
verse  22. 


HEBREWS, 
Chap,  vi: 
verse  15. 


JAMES, 
Chap,  i: 
verse  18. 


BECISIO:^"  AND  PERSEVERANCE. 

1. 1  press  toivard  the  mark,  for 


My  heart  is  fixed.     Ps.  cviii 
the  prize.     Phil,  iii :  14. 

See  where  the  Alps  rear  up  their  giant  brow! 
King  of  the  mounts,  with  coronet  of  snow; 
Scorning  all  time,  and  change,  his  stalwart  form 
Endures  the  peltings  of  eternal  storm; 
In  awful  pride,  enthroned  above  the  skies, 
Peaks  upon  peaks  in  matchless  grandeur  rise; 
'Mid  frowning  glaciers  on  whose  icy  crest, 
The  savage  vulture  builds  its  craggy  nest; 
The  fathomless  abyss  extends  beneath, 
And  leads  the  traveler  to  the  realms  of  death; 


Napoleon  comes  in  quest  of  fame  .ind  power. 

He  scans  the  mounts  that  high  above  him  tower; 

Though  "  bareli/ po.tsilile,''  he  will  'advance,"' 

And  in  Italia  plant  the  flag  of  France; 

In  vain  the  mountain,  like  a  dreadful  ghost. 

Rises  to  frighten  the  advancing  host. 

O'er  towering  cliflF  and  yawning  gulf  he  speeds, 

He  means  to  pass  nor  aught  of  danger  heeds; 

He  scales  the  summit  with  his  conquering  train. 

And  like  the  vulture  swoops  upon  the  plain. 


Here  the  Alps  lift  up  their  snow- 
capped heads  in  awful  sublimity;  their 
icy  pinnacles  tower  above  the  clouds; 
their  colossal  forms  arise,  mountain  on 


mountain  piled.  To  all  save  the  bounding 
chamois  or  his  intrepid  pursuer,  they  ap- 
pear inaccessible;  here  vast  overhang' 
in^  precipices  threaten  destruction,  and 


38 


RELIGIOUS    ALLEGOEIES. 


there  the  treacherous  abyss  lies  con- 
cealed, ready  to  engulf  the  unwary  trav- 
eler; winter  reigns  supreme  upon  his 
throne  of  desolation ;  eternal  tempests  in- 
ci'ease  the  horror  of  the  scene.  In  vain 
does  the  famished  traveler  search  for 
some  stunted  lichen,  or  the  smallest  ani- 
mal, to  save  him  from  approaching  death ; 
he  sees  nothing  but  boundless  seas  of 
ice;  no  signs  of  life  are  there;  it  seems 
the  very  tomb  of  nature;  the  solemn 
solitude  is  broken  only  by  the  roar  of 
the  tempest  or  the  thunder  of  the  ava- 
lanche. 

Yet  over  all  these  obstacles  Napoleon 
would  advance;  he  inquires  of  the  en- 
gineer Marescot,  who  has  just  explored 
the  wild  passes  of  the  St.  Bernard,  if  it 
is  possible  to  pass.  ^'■Barely  possible,'" 
answers  the  officer.  "  Very  Avell,"  says 
Napoleon,  -'en  avant,"  "advance,"  and 
at  the  head  of  his  army  of  above  30,000 
men,  with  their  arms,  horses,  and  ar- 
tillery, he  commences  the  arduous  pas- 
sage. The  mountains  seem  to  bid  de- 
fiance to  the  utmost  efforts  of  the  mar- 
tial host;  but  dangers  and  difficulties 
deter  him  not;  like  the  gale  that  wafts 
the  vessel  sooner  into  port,  they  only 
urge  him  on  toward  the  object  of  his 
ambition;  he  conducts  the  army  over 
slippery  glaciers,  wide  yawning  ravines, 
and  eternal  snows  ;  he  braves  the  fury 
of  the  tempest,  and  the  crash  of  the 
avalanche;  and  overcoming  every  ob- 
stacle, he  swoops  upon  Italy  like  the 
Alpine  eagle  upon  its  prey. 

In  the  conduct  of  Napoleon  in  this 
instance,  we  have  a  striking  example 
of  decision  and  perseverance.  If  wo 
can,  "out  of  the  eater  bring  forth 
meat,"  and  "from  the  strong  bring 
forth  sweetness,"  it  will  be  well. 

The  importance  of  possessing  a  de- 
cided character  is  best  seen  in  its  re- 
sults, as  the  value  of  a  tree  is  best 
known  by  its  fruits ;  by  its  aid  Na- 
poleon accomplished  the  objects  of  his 
ambition — fame,  and  wealth,  and  glory, 
and   power.     With   it,    a    man    attains 


that  which  he  sets  his  heart  upon; 
without  it,  he  becomes  easily  discour- 
aged and  fails.  With  it,  he  controls 
his  own  movements,  and  influences, 
also,  the  conduct  of  others;  without  it, 
he  loses  his  own  individuality,  and  be- 
comes a  creature  of  circumstances.  In 
fine,  man  without  decision  is  like  a  rud- 
derless vessel,  tossed  upon  an  uncertain 
sea;  while  the  decided  character,  like 
the  genius  of  the  storm,  commands  the 
winds  and  the  waves,  and  they  obey 
him. 

The  importance  of  decision  being 
so  apparent,  it  becomes  an  interesting 
inquiry,  "How  can  it  be  obtained?" 
After  a  proper  object  of  pursuit  is  se- 
lected, it  seems  essential  that  a  fuller 
knowledge  of  the  object  should  be  se- 
cured; no  pains  ought  to  be  spared  in 
order  to  obtain  a  perfect  knowledge  of 
the  object  or  profession,  in  all  its  parts; 
this  is  necessary  to  the  foundation  of 
such  a  character.  The  traveler  who 
knows  his  way  walks  with  a  firm  step, 
while  he  that  is  in  doubt  about  his 
path  advances  with  hesitation. 

Another  thing  deemed  essential,  is 
confidence  in  the  object  of  our  choice, 
that  it  will  yield  us  satisfaction ;  pos- 
sessing a  knowledge  of  our  route,  and 
a  belief  that  at  the  end  of  our  journey 
we  shall  be  at  home,  the  things  that 
discourage  others  have  no  influence  at 
all  upon  us.  So  it  is  with  the  decided 
character  in  the  path  he  has  chosen. 
Does  opposition  present  itself?  he  as- 
sumes the  attitude,  of  a  gladiator,  de- 
termined to  conquer  or  die  ;  does  danger 
appear,  as  it  did  to  Shadrach  and  his 
companions,  when  the  burning  fiery 
furnace  stood  in  their  path?  he  burns 
the  more  ardently  to  fulfill  his  mission. 
Is  he  ridiculed,  as  were  the  builders  of 
the  walls  of  Jerusalem?  he  heeds  it 
not,  he  still  goes  forward.  Finally, 
does  he  find  himself  forsaken  ?  it  throws 
him  on  his  own  resources,  it  makes 
him  firmer  in  his  purpose,  as  the  tree 
that  stands  alone  and  braves  the  storm, 


EELIGIOUS    ALLEGORIES, 


39 


strikes  deeper  its  roots  into  the  ground.  If 
engaged  in  a  good  cause,  he  is,  like  Milton's 
Abdiel, 

"Faithful  found 
Among  the  faithless,   faithful  only  he 
Among  innumerable  false,  unmoved. 
Unbroken,  uuseduced,  unterrified. 
His  loyalty  he  kept,  his  love,  his  zeal; 
Nor  number,  nor  example,  with  him  wrought, 
To  swerve  from  truth  or  change  his  constant  mind, 
Though  single." 

In  the  case  of  Napoleon  the  above  points 
were  exemplitied;  he  selected  as  the  object  of 
his  choice,  military  warfare;  he  made  himself 
acquainted  with  every  thing  belonging  to  it  as 
a  science.  He  had  confidence  in  it,  as  a  means 
of  procuring  him  the  highest  objects  of  his 
ambition;  hence  his  devotion  to  it;  hence 
his  perseverance;  dangers  and  ditficulties  are 
seized  as  allies ;  he  rises  with  the  storm,  and 
"barely  possible"  is  to  him  an  assurance  of 
success. 

'£o  the  Christian  soldier  decision  is  of  the 
highest  importance;  he  has  selected  the  Chris- 
tian warfare  as  a  means  of  procuring  to  him, 
"Glory,  Honor,  and  Immortality."  "If  the 
righteous  are  scarcely  saved,"  it  behooves  him 
to  know  what  belongs  to  "  liis  calling."  He 
needs  a  knowledge  of  himself,  of  his  duties, 
and  of  his  privileges  ;  a  knowledge  of  the  way, 
its  dangers,  and  its  difficulties;  a  knowledge 
of  his  enemies,  their  methods,  and  their  power; 
a  knowledge  of  his  Almighty  leader,  of  his 
Spirit,  and  of  liis  Word.  He  needs  a  living, 
practical  faith  in  religion,  that  will  secure  to 
him  "Eternal  Life."  Opposition,  danger,  and 
-death  may  stare  him  in  the  face,  but  if  de- 
cided, he  will  say,  "  None  of  these  things  move 
me;"  "my  heart  is  fixed,  I  will  sing  a'nd  give 
praise;"  and  having  fought  the  good  fight  of 
faith,  he  will  be  enrolled  among  those  who  per- 
severe to  tiie  end  and  are  saved. 

"Faith,  mighty  faith,  the  promise  sees,  and 
looks  to  that  alone. 
Laughs  at  impos'sibUities,  and  cries,  '/<  shall 
be  done!'  " 

Decision  of  character  may,  however,  belong 
to  very  difll'rent  individuals — to  the  bad  as 
well  as  the  good,  to  Satan  as  well  as  to  Abdiel. 
We  may,  like  Enoch,  "set  ourselves"  to  walk 
with  God;  or  be  like  the  wicked  whose  "heart 


is  fully  set  in  them  to  do  evil."  We  may  say 
with  pious  Joshua,  "Choose  you  this  day  whom 
ye  will  serve,  but  as  for  me  and  my  house,  we 
will  serve  the  Lord  ;"  or  with  ambitious  Pizarro, 
we  may  draw  the  line  with  the  sword,  and  say, 
"On  this  side  lie  poverty  and  Panama,  on 
that,  Peru  and  gold;  as  for  me  and  tbe  brave,- 
we  will  cross  the  line."  With  the  martyr 
Paul,  we  may  exclaim,  "  I  go  to  Jerusalem, 
though  bonds  and  afflictions  await  me  there;" 
or  with  the  patriot  Pompey,  "  It  is  necessary 
for  me  to  be  at  Rome,  though  it  is  not  neces' 
sary  for  me  to  live." 

The  following  anecdotes,  related  by  Foster, 
exhibit  striking  examples  of  decision  and  per- 
severance: 

"  An  estimable  old  man,  being  on  a  jury,  in 
a  trial  of  life  and  death,  was  completely  satis- 
fied of  the  innocence  of  the  prisoner;  the 
other  eleven  were  of  the  opposite  opinion,  but 
he  was  resolved  the  man  should  not  be  con- 
demned. As  the  first  effort  for  preventing  it, 
he  made  application  to  the  mhids  of  his  asso- 
ciates, but  he  found  he  made  no  impression; 
he  then  calmly  told  them  that  he  would  sooner 
die  of  famine  than  release  them  at  the  expense 
of  the  prisoner's  life.  The  result  was  a  ver- 
dict of  acquittal."  What  follows  is  a  less 
worthy  instance: 

"A  young  man  having  wasted,  in  two  or 
three  years,  a  large  fortune,  was  reduced  to 
absolute  want.  He  went  out  one  day,  with 
the  intention  of  putting  an  end  to  his  life; 
wandering  along,  he  came  to  the  brow  of  an 
eminence  that  overlooked  what  were  once  his 
own  estates;  here  he  sat  down  and  remained 
fixed  in  thought  some  hours.  At  length  he 
sprang  up  with  a  vehement  exulting  emotion — 
he  had  formed  the  resolution  that  all  these 
estates  should  be  his  own  again;  he  had 
formed  his  plan,  also,  which  he  began  imme- 
diately to  execute;  he  walked  forward  de- 
termined to  seize  the  very  first  opportunity  to 
gain  money,  and  resolved  not  to  spend  a  cent 
of  it,  if  he  could  help  it.  The  first  thing  was  a 
lieapof  coals  shot  before  a  house;  he  ofiered  to 
wheel  them  into  their  place;  he  received  a  few 
pence  for  his  labor;  he  then  asked  for  some- 
thing to  eat,  which  was  given  him.  In  this 
way  he  proceeded,  always  turning  his  gains  to 
some  advantage,  till  in  the  end  he  more  than 
realized  his  lost  possessions,  and  died  a  miser, 
worth  more  than  a  quarter  of  a  million  of 
dollars." 


40 


EELIGIOUS    ALLEGORIES. 


ISAIAH, 

Chap.  Ivii: 
verse  20. 


ISAIAH, 

Chap,  xlviii: 

verse  22. 


JAMES, 

Chap,  i: 

verses  3,  4. 


ECCLESIAST'S 

Chap,  vii : 

verse  8. 


EOMAN'S, 

Chap,  v: 
verses  3,  4. 


JAMES, 
Chap,  v: 

verse  7. 


PEOYEEBS, 
Chap.  XX : 
verse  2L 


ECCLESIAST'S, 

Chap,  iv: 

verse  .6. 


The  fool  rar/eth. 
work.     Jas.  i:  4 


Behold  here!  Passion,  stampiiif^.  mad  with  rage; 

He  tries  the  knotted  cord  to  disengan;e. 

He  twists  and  twirls,  and  fumes  and  frets  in  vain, 

And  all  impatient  cuts  the  cord  in  twain. 

Seel  there  is  gold!  that  Providence  has  sent; 

Favor  abused — it  feeds  his  discontent. 

His  soul  a  tempest — storms  around  him  rise  ; 

Thunder  and  lightning  shake  the  trembling  skies; 

A  troubled  ocean — white  with  foaming  spray, 


PASSIOJT  AND  PATIENCE. 

Prov.  XIV:  16. Let  patience  have  her  lyerfed 


Whose  restless  waters  cast  up  mire  and  clay. 

But  mark  the  contrast !  Patience,  much  at  ease, 
Th'  intricate  cord  unravels  by  degrees. 
No  bags  of  gold  has  he.     But  what  is  more, 
He  has  content — of  this  an  ample  store; 
While  the  briglit  Raini)ow  sparkling  in  the  sky, 
Is  pledge  to  liim  of  future  joys  on  high; 
His  soul  a  calm — by  mellow  light  caressed; 
A  placid  lake — whose  waters  are  at  rest. 


Two  very  different  characters  are 
here  presented  to  our  view:  Passion, 
storrainof,  wild  with  rao;e;  Patience, 
calm  and  tranquil.  For  some  time  Pas- 
sion has  been  endeavorinc^  to  unravel 
a  hank  of  entangled  twine  or  cord.     In 


his  2:reat  hurry  he  entangles  it  more 
and'more.  It  is  full  of  knots;  he 
p-ows  hot  with  ra,2:e;  his  face  is  mis- 
created; he  wears  the  aspect  of  a  fury. 
Stampinc;  with  answer,  he  tramples  upon 
some  toys  that  lay  near  him,  arid  brakes 


EELIGIOUS    ALLEGOPtlES. 


41 


them  into  pieces.  A"bai!^  of  gold  is  seen 
standing  at  his  side.  This  only  feeds 
his  pride ;  it  makes  him  more  outrageous 
to  thinlc  that  he  shouhl  have  sucli  work 
assigned  him.  A  tempest  is  seen  to  arise 
behind  him;  the  clouds  gather  blackness ; 
thunders  roll ;  fearful  lightnings  glare 
around.  This  is  to  show  the  state  of 
his  mind — wild,  fiery,  and  tempestuous. 
Ho  is  also  fully  represented  by  the 
troubled  sea,  seen  in  the  back-ground. 
Tumultuous  it  tosses  its  foaming  bil- 
lows; its  restless  waters  casts  up  mire 
and  dirt.  So  his  troubled  spirit,  agi- 
tated by  the  tumult  of  his  passions, 
gives  utterance  to  oaths,  bhisphemies, 
and  imprecations.  Miserable  youth! 
The  fire  of  hell  is  enkindled  within  him  ! 

Patience,  on  the  other  hand,  sits  with 
unruffled  composure.  He,  too,  has  had 
the  same  work  assigned  him.  lie  has 
the  knotted  cord  to  unravel;  but  he 
goes  about  it  in  the  spirit  of  duty;  pa- 
tiently he  unties  knot  after  knot,  over- 
comes difficulty  after  difiiculty,  until  the 
whole  is  cleared.  He  has  finished  his 
task;  he  is  seen  looking  upward,  to 
show  that  he  seeks  help  and  counsel  from 
on  high.  A  heavenly  light  descends 
and  sheds  its  luster  round  about  him. 
Help  is  alTorded.  In  the  back-ground 
is  seen  a  placid  lake :  this  denotes  the 
composure  of  his  mind.  Not  a  wave 
of  perplexity  dashes  across  his  peaceful 
breast.  Ho  has  not  riches;  no  gold  is 
seen  shining  by  his  side;  ho  is,  how- 
ever, contented  with  his  condition;  nor 
is  he  without  hope  of  future  good.  The 
Bow  of  Promise,  glittering  in  the  dis- 
tant sky,  intimates  io  us  that  he  looks 
forward  to  a  future  recompense. 

Passion  represents  a  man  of  the 
world:  one  who  has  his  portion  in  this 
life.  The  Almighty  Father  has  ap- 
pointed a  work  to  all  men ;  3'ea,  every 
thing  living,  moving,  creeping,  swim- 
ming, flying,  has  its  work  to  do.  Duty 
is  incumbent  upon  all.  It  is  a  con- 
dition of  existence;  it  is  also  a  con- 
dition of  happiness.     Man  is  under  this 


universal  law.  The  man  of  the  world 
lacking  the  proper  qualifications  for 
duty,  fails  in  discharging  it  aright.  He 
works  from  Avrong  motives  and  for 
wrong  ends;  he  does  all  to  the  glory 
of  self.  No  wonder  he  makes  such  a 
bungling  work  of  it. 

By  the  knotted  cord  may  be  under- 
stood those  difticult  passages  of  life 
through  which  man,  as  such,  has  to 
pass — afflictions,  disappointments,  etc. 
These  are  more  than  the  Avorldly-mind- 
ed  man  can  bear.  The  reason  seems 
clear  enough.  He  has  set  his  heart 
upon  earthly  objects;  hence,  the  re- 
moval of  these  objects  from  him  affects 
him  very  sensibly.  These  are  thy  gods, 
O,  man  of  the  world!  When  trouble 
comes,  of  course  he  does  not  look  up- 
ward; he  has  no  business  there.  He 
looks  down — down — continually.  "He 
loans  to  his  own  understanding,"  in- 
stead of  waiting  for  further  develop- 
ments. He  becomes  impatient,  fretful, 
peevish,  angry,  and  passionate.  He 
would  curse  God  and  die,  if  he  was  not 
afraid  to  die.     He  is 

"Instantly,  with  wild  demoniac  ra^e, 
For  breaking  all  the  cliains  of  Providence, 
And  bursting  his  coiitinenient,  though  fast 

barrel! 
By  laws  divine  and  human." 

Providence  may  have  lavished  wealth 
upon  him;  he  spurns  the  giver;  ho 
abuses  his  gifts.  His  pride  becomes 
more  inflamed;  his  table  becomes  a 
snare  unto  him;  his  riches  add  to  his 
discontent.  What  he  needs,  though  he 
may  not  know  it,  is  a  hope  beyond  the 
grave.  He  has  title  eleeds  enough  on 
parchment,  but  none  to  the  kingdom 
of  heaven;  houses  and  lands,  but  no 
"hiding-place'"  in  which  to  enter  when 
the  great  day  of  his  wrath  shall  come. 
He  iias  no  anchor  to  enable  his  vessel 
to  ride  out  the  gales  of  adversity. 
Clouds  and  darkness  surround  him;  a 
tempest  is  in  his  path ;  he  is  a  cloud 
cai'ried  with  the  tempest,   to  whom   is 


42 


EELIGIOUS    ALLEGOEIES. 


reserved  the  mist  of  darkness  forever ; 
a,  troubled  sea,  whicli  can  not  rest,  whose 
watei'S  cast  up  mire  and  dirt. 

Patience  represents  the  man  of  God; 
him  who  has  chosen  God  and  the  world 
to  come  for  his  portion.  In  this  world, 
he,  too,  has  presented  to  him  the  knot- 
ted cord — trials,  j^erplexities,  and  afflic- 
tions. Man  is  born  to  trouble.  He  en- 
dures all  things  as  seeing  him  who  is 
invisible;  in  patience  ho  possesseth  his 
soul.  He  looks  at  the  dilficulty  calmly  ; 
he  considers  what  is  best  to  be  done, 
and  which  is  the  best  Ava}^  to  do  it. 
If  it  is  beyond  his  power  or  skill,  he 
looks  to  God  for  assistance.  The  com- 
posed state  of  his  mind  gives  him  a 
great  advantage  over  the  impatient  one; 
but  if  he  finds  his  own  arm  too  short, 
he  is  intimate  with  One  who  is  mighty 
to  save,  and  who  is  a  very  jjresent  help 
in  times  of  trouble.  Soon  the  knot  is 
untied,  the  difficulty  is  overcome,  and 
the  victory  is  gained.  Hence  a  holy 
calm  pervades  him;  he  knows  that  all 
things  are  working  together  for  his 
good.  His  soul  is  like  a  placid  lake, 
reflecting  the  rosy  light  of  heaven. 

Earth  to  him  may  be  a  tempestuous 
ocean;  but  the  eye  of  faith  ever  sees 
the  beacon  of  Truth  gleaming  across 
its  dark  blue  wave,  pointing  him  to  the 
haven  of  repose.  Therefore,  though 
oast  down,  he  is  not  destroyed;  per- 
plexed, yet  never  in  despair.  He  reck- 
ons that  his  light  afflictions  will  work 
for  him  a  far  more  exceeding  and  eter- 
nal weight  of  glory.  He  looks  not  at 
the  things  which  are  seen,  but  at  those 
that  are  not  seen.  He  has  no  gold,  he 
is  poor;  but  the  Bow  of  Promise  spans 
for  him  its  glorious  arch.  "He  is  joy- 
ful in  hope."  He  is  reminded  of  his  in- 
heritance above.  There  he  has  a  throne 
at  the  right  hand  of  the  King  of  Gloiy ; 
a   mansion    in   the   skies;    a   bower   in 


paradise;  a  rest  in'  Abi'aham's  bosom; 
a  shelter  from  the  storm;  a  city  which 
has  foundations.  No  wonder  that  besets 
his  affections  on  things  that  are  above. 
There  is  his  portion  fair;  there,  too,  is, 
his  heart;  there  is  his  eternal  dwelling- 
place.  Ho  would  rather  have  the  lot 
of  Lazarus  here,  and  his  portion  here- 
after, than  fare  sumptuously  every  day 
with  Dives,  and  be  perplexed  with  him 
at  last  in  the  hell  of  torment.  As  ho 
walks  through  the  vale  of  poverty  and 
distress,  the  heavenly  light  shines  around 
him,  and  awakes  the  voice  of  song: 

"Although  tlie  fig-tree  shall  not  blossom, 
Neither  shall  fruit  be  in  the  vines; 
The  labor  of  the  olive  shall  fail, 
And  the  fields  .'^liall  j'ield  no  meat; 
The  fiocks  shall  be  cut  off  from  the  fold. 
And  there  shall  be  no  herd  in  the  stalls; 
Yet  I  will  rejoice  in  the  Lord — 
I  will  joy  ill  the  God  of  my  Salvation." 

How  greatly  is  Patience  to  bg  pre- 
ferrc^d  before  Passion.  Passion  is  a 
fury,  breathing  out  threatening  and 
slaughter;  Patience  is  a  cherub,  whis- 
pering words  of  love  and  joy.  Passion 
is  a  tempest  charged  with  lightnings, 
hail,  and  thunder;  Patience  is  a  holy 
calm,  where  peace  reigns  and  stillness 
triumphs.  The  one  is  a  troubled  sea, 
casting  up  mire  and  dirt;  the  other  a 
placid  lake,  illumined  by  the  mellow 
light  of  heaven.  The  one  a  foretaste 
of  the  fire  of  hell;  the  other  a  pledge 
of  everlasting  repose. 

"The  man  possess'd  among  the  tombs, 
Cuts  his  own  fiesh  and  cries; 
He  foams  and  raves,  till  Jesus  comes, 
And  the  foul  spirit  flies." 

"  Beloved  self  must  be  denied — 
The  mind  and  will  renewed 
Passion  oppressed  and  patience  tried, 
And  vain  desires  subdued." 


RELIGIOUS    A  L  L  E  G  O  II 1  E  S . 


43 


PHILLIPPI'NS,       ^^^ 
Chap,   iv:  ^fifc^^ 

verse    lo.  ==-     u;™,  ^hatovorcometh  win  l  make  ^ 

g3:-_^        Filial-  in  the  -temple of  mv  Cod. 


1  JOHN, 

Chap,  v: 

verses  4,  5. 


1  TIMOTHY, 

Chap,   vi : 
verse  12, 


2  TIMOTHY, 

Chaj).  iv: 

verse  7. 


1  JOHN,  f 

Chap,  ii: 
verses  13,  14. 


»     2  CORINTH'XS, 
Chap,  x: 
vei'se  4. 


2  TIMOTHY, 
Chap,  ii : 
verse  3. 


EEYELATION^, 

Chap,  iii : 
verse  21. 


THE  COXQUERIXG  CHRISTIAN. 
Tim.  VI :  12.- 


Fight  the  good  fight. 

Faith and  the  Sword  of  the  Spirit. 


—  Taking 
Eph.  vi: 


the  shield 
16, 17. 


of 


A  GLORIOUS  Temple  rises  to  our  view, 

Tlie  conquering  Christian  fights  his  passage 

through; 
His  dreadful  foes  who  now  attack  him  sore, 
.'j'alse  Shame  behind,  fell  Unbelief  before; 
And  Worldly  Love — great  idol  here  below, 
Unites  to  aid  in  Christian's  overthrow; 
But  he,  courageous,  takes  at  once  the  field. 
Armed  with  ancient,  well-appointed  shiehl; 
A  two-edged  sword  he  wields,  well  known  to  fame, 
And  prostrates  at  one  blow  the  dastard  Shame; 


On  Worldly  Love  he  falls  with  many  a  blow, 
And  soon  he  lays  the  usurping  monster  low. 
Now  Unbelief,   the  champion  of  the  rest. 
Enraged,  bestirs  him,  and  lays  on  his  best; 
A  fearful  thrust  he  makes  at  Christian's  heart, 
I  The  Sliield  of  Faith  receives  the  murd'rous  dart; 
With  his  good  sword  brave  Christian  wounds  him 

sore, 
And  out  of  combat  he  is  seen  no  more; 
Into  the  Temple  now  the  Victor  speeds. 
And  Angel  Minstrels  chant  his  valiant  deeds. 


The  above  represents  a  man  fiixhtins^ 
liis  way  toward  a  beautiful  Pahice;  it 
is  his  home.  From  various  causes  he 
has  been  lona;  estrauijed  from  his  pa- 
ternal    inheritance.     He    is,    by    some 


means,  reminded  of  its  endearinij  associ- 
ations, of  its  ancient  mafifnificence,  of 
its  voices  of  happiness  and  love,  pleas- 
ant things  to  deliijjht  the  eye,  choral 
symphonies  to  enrich  the  ear,  rich  vi- 


4-t 


RELIGIOUS    ALLEGORIES. 


ands  to  gratify  the  taste  are  there.  He 
becomes  anxious  to  return;  ho  deter- 
mines at  once  to  regain  possession  of 
his  mansion,  or  perish  in  the  attempt. 
He  meets  with  opposition  ;  the  odds  is 
fearful,  three  to  one.  His  enemies  do 
not  absolutely  deny  his  rights,  yet 
they  are  determined  to  oppose  him  to 
the  uttermost.  He  gives  battle,  and  by 
dint  of  skill  and  courage,  he  routs  his 
foes,  gains  a  complete  victory,  and  enters 
his  home  in  triumph. 

This  allegory  represents  a  part  of  the 
Christian  wartare.  The  temple  or  pal- 
ace signifies  that  glorious  inheritance 
which  the  Almighty  Father  has  be- 
queathed to  all  of  his  children.  It  con- 
tains all  that  can  please,  delight,  or  en- 
chant the  soul,  and  that  forever  m^ore. 
For  it  is  an  inheritance  that  is  incor- 
ruptible, undefiled,  and  which  fadeth 
not  away.  The  hero  denotes  a  man 
who  has  decided  to  be  a  Christian.  By 
the  influence  of  the  Holy  Spirit  on  his 
heart,  he  is  convinced  of  his  outcas.t 
condition;  of  the  impotency  of  created 
good  to  make  him  happy;  of  the  in- 
significance of  the  things  of  time  com- 
pared with  those  of  eternity.  Con- 
vinced of  these,  in  the  strength  of 
grace,  he  says,  "I  will  arise  and  go  to 
my  Father,"  and  he  goes  accordingly. 
But  he  soon  meets  with  enemies  who 
powerfully  oppose  his  progress;  and 
among  the  first  of  these  is 

Shame.  Our  passions,  or  powers  of 
feeling,  have  been  given  to  us  by  our 
benevolent  Creator  to  subserve  our 
happiness,  and  shame  among  the  rest. 

"  Art  divine 
Thus  made  the  body  tutor  to  the  .soul — 
Heaven  kindly  give.s  our  blood  a  moral  flovv, 
And  bids  it  ascend  the  glowing  cheek." 

Shame  stands  as  a  sentinel  to  warn 
Tis  of  danger,  and  so  put  us  on  our 
guard.  But  all  of  our  passions  are  per- 
verted from  their  proper  uses,  and  sin 
has  done  it.  Therefore,  as  man  loves 
darkness   rather  than    light,    calls  evil 


good  and  good  evil,  puts  bitter  for 
sweet  and  sweet  for  bitter,  so,  also,  he 
changes  the  proper  uses  of  shame.  In- 
stead of  being  ashamed  of  the  bad  ho 
is  ashamed  of  the  good.  Shame  is  an 
enemy  hard  to  conquer.  The  convert 
finds  it  so.  Ho  feels  ashamed,  at  first, 
to  be  seen  by  his  old  companions  in 
company  with  the  truly  pious,  or  go- 
ing to  a  religious  meeting,  or  on  his 
knees  praying,  or  in  any  way  carry- 
ing the  cross  of  him  whom  he  has  now 
chosen  to  be  his  Master.  Shame  con- 
fronts him  every-where,  and  gives  him 
to  understand  that,  for  the  most  part, 
religious  people  are  a  poor,  low,  and 
ignorant  set;  that  no  person  of  char- 
acter will  associate  with  him,  etc. 
Christian  remembers  that  what  is  highly 
esteemed  among  men  is  had  in  abom- 
ination with  God;  that  shame,  after 
all,  is  the  promotion  of  fools  only. 
Thus  he  vanquisheth  shame  by  the 
sword  of  the  Spirit,  even  by  the  Word 
of  the  Lord. 

As  soon  as  shame  is  disposed  of,  an- 
other foe  appears — Love  of  the  world. 
This  consists  in  a  greater  attachment 
to  this  present  world  than  becomes  one 
who  is  so  soon  to  leave  it  and  live  foi'- 
ever  in  another.  As  the  boy  should 
learn  what  he  may  need  when  he  shall 
become  a  man,  so  should  the  mortal 
acquire  what  it  may  need  when  it  puts 
on  immortality.  The  natural  man  is 
so  strongly  wedded  to  earthly  objects, 
that  to  him  the  separation  is  impossi- 
ble. Argument  will  not  effect  it.  Ho 
may  be  convinced,  intellectually,  that 
the  things  of  earth  are  transitory  and  un- 
satisfying, yet  he  pursues  them  eagerl}*. 
His  feelings  may  be  lacerated  by  the 
death  of  some  beloved  relative,  and  his 
hopes  blasted  by  the  loss  of  property, 
still  he  cleaves  to  earth.  The  power 
of  the  Almighty  alone  can  help  him. 
He  needs  a  new  principle  of  feeling 
and  of  action;  even  that  of  faith  that 
overcomes  the  world.  Obtaining  this 
principle,    he    looks   not  at   the   thing* 


KELIGIOUS    ALLEGOr.IES 


45 


that  arc  seen,  but  at  those  which  ai-e 
unseen. 

The  genuine  Christian  convert  has 
many  conflicts  ere  he  can  set  his  affec- 
tions on  the  things  above.  Worldly 
Love  opposes  him  perseveringly — in  his 
religious  experience,  in  his  self-deny- 
ing duties,  in  his  .  .  .  givings,  and  in 
his  sufferings.  The  Christian,  how- 
ever, knows  tliat  he  must  conquer  that 
foe  or  perish ;  tliereforc,  he  sets  him- 
self to  meditate  upon  his  duty.  He 
searches  the  Scriptures;  he  finds  tliat 
God's  enemies  are  those  who  mind 
earthly  things;  ho  wishes  not  to  join 
them ;  that  the  love  of  the  world  is 
hatred  to  God;  if  any  man  love  the 
world,  the  love  of  the  Father  is  not  in 
him;  and  animated  by  the  example  of 
Christ  his  Lord,  who  left  heaven  for 
rtxan,  he  renounces  earth  for  God.  He 
dies  to  the  world  and  lives  to  Christ. 
As  a  soldier  of  Jesus  he  fights  under  his 
banners,  and  comes  off  more  than  a  con- 
queror through  him  who  has  loved  him. 

Unbelief  is  a  gigantic  foe.  He  is  in- 
deed the  champion  of  all  ihe  rest,  pe- 
culiarly skillful  and  bold  in  his  attacks. 
He  knows  how  to  shift  his  ground 
adroitly.  Sometimes  he  assails  vehe- 
mently, denying  Christianity  itself; 
nay,  the  very  existence  of  :lie  Almighty, 
declaring  that  "God  is  nature,  and 
that  there  is  no  other  god,"  and  that 
"death  is  an  eternal  sleep."  Thus,  by 
one  stroke,  he  would  sweep  away  the 
being  and  attributes  of  the  Eternal, 
the  doctrines,  promises,  and  command- 
ments of  the  Word  of  God,  man's  re- 
sponsibilites  and  consequent  duties. 
Were  this  stroke  successful,  it  would 
deprive  man  of  all  hap[>iness  in  this 
life,  and  of  the  consolations  of  hope  in 
the  life  that  is  after  death.  It  expels 
him  a  second  time  from  paradise  into 
a  desert,  where  not  even  thorns  and 
briers  spring  up  for  his  support. 


Unbelief,  however,  does  not  alwa}-i 
act  so  boldly.  Sometimes  he  admits 
the  existence  of  God,  and  the  subject 
of  religion,  in  general,  but  denies  that 
man  owes  duties  to  the  former,  or  that 
he  is  interested  in  the  latter.  He  will 
even  approve  of  the  form  of  le'igion, 
])rovided  there  is  no  power,  no  laith, 
no  Holy  Spirit  in  it.  Unbelief  in  this 
form  destr03'S  thousands  of  immortal 
souls  who  j)rofess  Christ,  yet,  not  hav- 
ing true  faith,  in  works  deny  him.  Ho 
that  belicvcth  not.shall  be  damned. 

Sometimes  unbelief  attack.?  the  Chiistiau 
under  the  garb  of  benevolence.  He  }iitie3 
and  deplore.s  most  feelingly  the  present  evila 
that  flesh  is  heir  to.  He  promi.ses  you  a  ter- 
restrial lieaven.  But,  first,  the  present  ordei 
of  things  must  be  abolished.  All  institutions, 
political  and  religious,  must  be  abrogated. 
The  fonnchitions  of  Society  must  be  brolven  up; 
its  frame-work  dissolved;  that  is  to  say,  a  per- 
fect chaos  must  be  made,  out  of  wliich  shall 
arise  a  perfect  paradise.  You  must  first  pa.s.s 
through  a  vast,  liovvling  wiklerness,  where  no 
water  is;  and  tlien  (if,  indeed,  your  carcass 
does  not  fall  in  the  wilderness)  you  will  be  con- 
ducted into  the  promised  land. 

In  these  ways  does  unbelief  make  his  on- 
sets, suiting  hi.s  methods  to  the  dispositions  of 
the  age,  or  to  the  circumstances  of  individu- 
als. The  Christian  repels  them  with  the 
shield  of  Faitli,  and  the  sword  of  the  Spirit, 
which  i.«  the  Word  of  God.  He  possesses  tlie 
divine  Word,  which  is  full  of  promises,  and 
that  faith  wliich  is  a  deep  conviction  of  tilings 
not  seen,  and  tlie  substance  or  foundation  of 
things  hoped  for.  Therefore,  he  gives  no 
quarter  to  unbelief;  God  hatli  spoken,  it  is 
enough.  Tiiere  is  a  mansion  for  him  ;  he  will 
possess  it.  His  Savior  has  conquered  and 
reigns.  •  He  will  conquer  and  reign  also.  Ho 
beholdsj  by  faith,  a  glorious  mansion,  a  palm 
of  victory,  a  song  of  triumph,  a  crown  of  life. 
Animated  by  tlie  j)rospect,  he  fights  his  way 
tlirough  all  his  foes;  and  as  he  fights  he 
sings: 

"The  glorious  crown  of  Righteousness, 
To  me  re.iched  out,  I  view; 
Conqueror  tlirougli  Christ,  I  soon  shall  riso 
And  wear  it  as  my  due." 


40 


EELIGIOUS    ALLEGOEIES 


MATTHEW, 

Chap,  xviii: 
verse  11. 


1  JOHN, 
Chap,  iv: 
verse  11. 


JOHN", 
Chap,  vi: 
verse  51. 


m 


LUKE, 

Chap,  ii : 
verse  30. 


EEVELATION, 
Chap,  v: 
verse  9. 


JOHN, 
Chap,  iv: 
verse  42. 


ACTS, 
Chap,  iv : 
verse  12. 


1  CORINTH'NS 
Chap,  i : 
verse  30. 


THE   IMPERIAL   PHILANTHROPIST. 

"Who  gave  himself  a  ransom  for  all.     1  Tim.  ii :  6. 


The  hapless  crew  upon  the  reef  are  cast; 
And  round  them  rages  wild  the  furious  blast: 
Deep  calls  to  deep  with  wide-mouthed  thunder- 
ing roai-, 
Loud  beat  the  billows  on  the  rock-bound  shore; 
Crash  after  crash  is  heard  with  fearful  shock, 
As  the  boat  dashes  on  the  craggy  rock. 
The  affrighted  crew  nor  skill  nor  courage  have, 


To  save  their  bark  from  the  devouring  wave; 
Russia's  great  Czir  beholds  them  on  the  reef. 
And  nobly  hastens  to  nflfbrd  relief: 
Boldly  he  plunges  in  the  boiling  waves; 
And  all  the  fury  of  the  tempest  braves. 
He  leaps  on  board,  and  with  a  skillful  hand, 
Through  rocks  and  breakers,  brings  them  safe  to 
land. 


"Wo  have  here  a  picture  of  danger 
and  of  deliverance.  Peter  the  Great, 
Emperor  of  all  the  Russias,  had  been 
sailing  in  one  of  his  yachts  as  far  as 
the  Ladoga  Lake ;  finding  himself  re- 
freshed by  the  sea  breez6,  instead  of 
landing    at    St.   Petersburg,    he    sailed 


down  the  Neva  toward  the  open  sea  of 
the  Gulf  of  Finland.  The  day  had  been 
very  fine;  toward  evening,  however,  the 
weather  suddenly  changed;  the  Em- 
peror resolved  to  land,  but  he  had 
scarcely  reached  the  shore,  when  the 
storm  burst  forth  in  all  its  fury.     The 


"RELIGIOUS    ALLEGORIES. 


i] 


waves  rose  and  beat  against  the  craggy 
rocks  of  the  coast,  and  the  wind  roared 
from  the  wild  sky  with  a  thundering 
voice;  in  a  few  minutes  a  black  cloud, 
let  down  like  a  curtain,  hid  the  scene 
from  view.  Still,  however,  the  Em- 
peror looked  and  listened;  he  thought 
he  heard  the  voice  of  distress  mingling 
with  the  yell  of  the  storm ;  his  pene- 
trating glance  soon  discovered  a  boat 
struggling  against  the  rolling  surge, 
that  was  ariving  it  toward  the  furious 
breakers.  The  men,  most  of  them  being 
soldiers,  are  evidently  at  a  loss  what  to 
do;  presently  the  boat  is  dashed  upon 
a  reef;  the  sea  breaks  over  it  mount- 
ains high.  The  Emperor  immediately 
sends  a  vessel  to  their  aid,  but  in  vain ; 
the  men  on  board  want  both  skill  and 
courage  to  execute  the  dangerous  task. 
The  poor  men  on  the  reef,  seeing  them- 
selves deserted  by  their  companions, 
rend  the  air  with  their  piteous  cries  for 
help;  the  Emperor  can  contain  himself 
no  longer;  he  springs  into  his  own 
boat,  calling  on  all  who  have  hearts  to 
dare  for  their  brethren  to  follow  him. 
By  great  exertions  he  reaches  as  near 
to  the  sufferers  as  the  breakers  will  al- 
low; he  perceives  that  he  is  yet  too  far 
off  to  aid  them;  what  they  need  is  a 
skillful  pilot;  he  plunges  into  the  rag- 
ing billows;  bravely  he  buffets  the 
mountain  surge,  now  floating  on  the 
topmost  wave,  now  sinking  in  the 
depths  beneath;  soon  he  gains  the 
boat;  he  springs  on  board  like  a  de- 
livering angel.  The  men,  resouled  at 
sight  of  the  Emperor  risking  his  life  to 
save  them,  renew  their  efforts;  they 
soon  get  off  the  shoal  into  deep  water, 
and  the  Emperor  guides  them  skillfully 
through  the  rock?  and  shoals,  and  brings 
them  safe  to  land. 

Now  he  is  overwhelmed  with  the 
grateful  demonstrations  of  those  whom 
he  has  saved  from  the  jaws  of  destruc- 
tion, and  of  those  happy  wives  and 
children,  who,  but  for  him,  would  now 
have  been  orphans  and  widows;  he  en- 


joys the  luxury  of  doing  good ;  he  feels 
most  truly  that  ''  it  is  more  blessed  to 
give  than  to  receive." 

"The  quality  of  mercy  is  not  strained; 
It  droppetli  as  the  gentle  rain  from  heaven 
Upon  the  place  beneath.     It  is  twice  blessed; 
It  blesselh  h'un  who  gives,  and  him  who  takes, 
'Tis  mightiest  in  the  mightiest;  it  becomes 
The  throned  monarch  better  than  his  crown." 

We  admire,  and  very  justly  too,  the 
surprising  condescension,  the  tender 
compassion,  the  heroic  courage,  and  the 
consummate  skill  of  the  Emperor  of  all 
the  Eussias  in  risking  his  life  for  the 
sake  of  a  few  poor  men ;  but  what  is 
this  compared  with  the  grace  of  our 
Lord  and  Savior,  ^^Jesusf"  The  Em- 
peror lost  nothing  of  his  dignity  in 
doing  what  he  did ;  he  laid  aside  none 
of  his  titles;  ho  assumed  not  a  lower 
rank;  in  the  boat,  among  the  waves, 
and  on  the  shoal,  he  was  still  an  Em- 
peror. But  Jesus  laid  his  glory  by; 
the  glory  that  he  had  with  the  Father 
before  the  world  was;  the  glory  result- 
ing from  creative  power;  the  glorj^  of 
guiding  the  armies  of  earth  and  heaven  ; 
the  glory  of  eternity.  "  He  emptied 
himself,"  "  ho  made  himself  of  no  rep- 
utation." The  master  becomes  a  slave; 
the  king  becomes  a  subject;  the  maker 
of  worlds  becomes  a  creature;  the  God 
becomes  a  worm!  How  surprising  this 
condescension!  how  wonderful  this  hu- 
mility ! 

"  Bound  every  heart  and  every  bosom  burn." 

And  O,  with  what  tender  compassion 
Jesus  pitied  us,  as  ho  saw  us  exposed 
to  the  gulf  of  eternal  death  !  In  the 
depths  of  our  misery,  he  exclaimed, 
"Behold,  I  come!"  and  immediately 
hastened  to  our  relief.  O,  how  he  weeps, 
groans,  prays,  and  dies  for  vis,  and  for 
our  salvation  !  He  pities  our  ignorance  ; 
he  groans  for  our  unbelief;  he  weeps 
for  the  hardness  of  our  heart ;  he  dies 
for  our  guilt. 

What  heroic  courage   he  displays  in 


48 


RELiaiOUS    ALLEGOllIES.   • 


working  out  our  deliverance!  How  he 
grapples  Avith  the  powers  of  darkness! 
How  ho  triumphs  over  temptation,  pov- 
erty, and  shame !  How  he  conquers 
principalities  and  thrones,  making  a 
show  of  them  openly !  He  wrests  from 
death  his  dreadful  sting,  proves  victori- 
ous over  the  grave,  and  opens  the  gates 
of  Paradise  to  all  believers.  AVhat  di- 
vine wisdom,  also,  lie  manifests  in  the 
work  of  redemption  ;  in  securing  to  man 
his  liberty,  and  to  God  his  glory.  How 
skillfally  the  Savior  confines  all  the 
Hophistry  of  the  devil;  how  wonder- 
fully he  ianswers  all  the  cavils  of  his 
adversaries!  How,  by  his  questions, 
does  he  take  the  wise  in  their  own 
craftiness!  His  laAvs  fill  with  admira- 
tion the  hearts  of  his  worshipers.  How 
fikijlfully  he  guides  his  followers  through 
the  rocks  and  shoals  of  temptation  and 
Bin,  and  lands  them  safely  on  the  banks 
of  deliverance!  "Ycrilj^,  he  hath  done 
all  things  well."     Hallelujah! 

Bat  for  whom  did  the  Savior  labor 
and  suffer?  Peter  risked  his  life  for 
mortals  like  himself;  Jesus  gave  his  for 
beings  infinitely  beneath  him.  Peter 
for  his  own  soldiers,  Jesus  for  those 
who  were  arrayed  under  the  banner  of 
his  great  foe;  Peter  for  his  own  sub- 
jects, Jesus  for  the  subjects  of  another 
kingdom;  Peter  rescued  merely  his 
friends,  Jesus  died  for  the  salvation  of 
his  enemies.  Herein  is  love:  "God 
commendeth  his  love  toward  us  in  that 
while  we  were  jGi  sinners;"  conse- 
quently enemies,  "Christ  died  for  us." 

In  the  case  before  us — one  rather  of 
contrast  than  comparison — we  see  the 
men,  re-spirited  by  the  presence  of  their 
Emperor,  come  to  save  them,  labor  with 
all  their  might;  had  they  not  done  so, 
they  could   not    have  been  saved,  not- 


withstanding all  the  skill,  j^ower,  and 
good-will  of  their  Prince.  J3ut  we, 
alas!  stupid  and  ignorant  as  we  are, 
when  our  Deliverer  comes  to  our  aid, 
are  found  questioning  his  skill,  deny- 
ing his  power,  and  disbelieving  his  kind 
intentions;  instead  of  working  "out  our 
own  salvation,"  with  fear  and  trembling, 
while  he  works  in  us,  helping  lis  both 
to  will  and  to  do  of  his  good  pleasure. 
Those  Avho  were  saved  from  death  by 
the  philanthropic  Emperor,  showered 
upon  him  .every  demonstration  of  grati- 
tude ;  they  invoked  eternal  blessings  on 
his  head,  and  devoted  their  lives  to  his 
service ;  and  shall  not  wo  be  grateful 
to  our  Spiritual  deliverer?  His  name 
ought  to  be  to  us  above  every  name. 
His  Salvation  is;  to  the  man  that  be- 
lieves, Christ  is  precious;  he  meditates 
upon  his  wondrous  love,  upon  his  un- 
paralleled condescension,  upon  his  he- 
roic courage,  upon  his  tender  compas- 
sion, and  upon  his  divine  wisdom,  until 
the  fire  of  grateful  emotion  burns  within 
him,  and  he  presents  himself  a  living 
sacrifice,  holy  and  acceptable  before  the 
Lord,  saying: 

"  Were  the  whole  realm  of  nature  mine, 
That  were  an  offering  far  too  small  ; 
Love  so  amazing!  so  divine! 
Demands  my  life,  my  soul,  my  all." 

And  he  devotes  himself,  accordingly,  to 
the  service  of  his  King  and  Savior.  As 
a  good  subject,  he  will  obey  His  laws, 
and  seek  to  promote  the  peace  and 
prosperity  of  his  kingdom;  as  a  good 
soldier,  he  will  follow  his  Captain 
through  every  danger  and  every  death, 
and  having  gained  the  victory,  he  will 
ground  his  arms  at  Jesus'  feet,  and  so 
be  ever  with  the  Lord. 


EELIGIOUS    ALLEGORIES. 


49 


JAMES, 
Chfip.  v: 
verse  20. 


MICAH, 

Chap,  u: 
verse  10. 


•EPHESIA^S, 
Chap,  v: 
verse  l-l. 


LUKE, 

Chap,  xxii; 

verse  -16. 


PSALM 

cxli : 
verse  5. 


TITUS, 
Chap,  i: 
vei-se  13. 


EOMAXS, 

Chap,  xiii 

verse  11. 


LUKE, 
Chap.   XX ; 
verse  36. 


THE   WIN"TIIY  ATMOSPHERE. 

Therefore  let  us  not  sleep,  as  do  others ;  but  let  us  watch  and  be 
sober.     1  IViess.  v  :  6. 


The  icy  mountains  hove  lift  up  on  hifjh 
Their  barren  peaks  toward  the  arctic  sky; 
Terrific  regions,  where  grim  Winter  reigns, 
And  bends  the  whirlwind  in  liis  frosty  chains. 
All  life  has  fled,  save  where  the  shaggy  beast 
Prowls  with  intent  on  lmm;in  blood  to  feast; 
'T  is  natures  tomb,    no  living  voice  is  heard. 
Of  murmuring  brook,  nor  cheerful  warbling  bird  ; 
No  leafy  tree,  nor  smiling  fields  of  green, 
Nor  corn  luxuriant  waving,  here  is  seen. 
In  this  cold  clime  some  mariners  are  found — 


Two,    froze    to    death,    lie    stretched    upon    the 

ground; 
Others,  more  wise,  to  keep  themselves  awake, 
They  leap  and  shout,  and  strive  their  friends  to 

wake. 
One  plies  the  rod — yet  from  nil  anger  free — 
To  rouse  his  neighbor  from  his  lelhargj-; 
Death  of  his  prey,  while  thus  engaged,  he  cheat^ 
And  finds  himself  revive  the  more  he  beats. 
Tliese  work  and  live,  although  the  conflict's  sore; 
The  rest  they  slumber  and  awake  no  more 


Here  we  have  a  picture  of  the  polar 
regions;  th-e  acciimiilatijig  masses  of 
ice  raise  to  the  wky  tlieir  snowy  suni- 


mits,  the  formation,  perhaps,  of  future 
icebergs.  Here  Winter  sits  securely 
upon  his  throne  of  desolation.      Unmo- 


50 


EELIGIOUS    ALLEGORIES, 


lested  by  the  Solar  King,  he  sways  his 
icy  scepter.  The  very  winds  are  hushed 
to  silence  by  his  power;  a  desolate  and 
terrible  region.  It  is  the  sheeted  sep- 
ulcher  of  Nature  deceased.  No  signs 
of  life  are  seen,  except  the  polar  beast, 
fitted  for  his  dreary  abode.  No  sound 
of  rippling  brook,  nor  voice  of  joyous 
bird,  echoes  through  the  icy  cliffs.  To 
bless  the  eye,  no  leafy  forests  wave  to 
the  breeze;  no  cheerful  fields  of  living 
green  appear.  To  bless  the  heart,  no 
rising  corn,  the  all-sustaining  food  of 
man,  bends  with  its  weight  of  wealth. 
In  this  inhospitable  climate,  man,  if  he 
possess  not  a  stout  heart,  soon  dies.  A 
drowsiness  steals  over  him  ;  he  feels  a 
very  great  inclination  to  lay  down ; 
then  cold  chills  throughout  his  life's 
blood  slowly  creep;  he  sinks  into  a 
lethargy,  from  which  he  never  more 
awakes. 

In  the  picture  are  seen  a  few  mari- 
ners who  are  thrown  into  this  unfriendly 
climate.  Two  of  them,  in  consequence 
of  giving  way  to  their  drowsy  feelings, 
have  fallen  asleej).  It  is  the  slumber 
of  the  gj-ave.  The  others,  aware  of  the 
deadly  influence  of  intense  cold,  exert 
themselves  to  keep  it  off.  They  leap 
about  and  cry  aloud ;  they  are  alarmed 
for  their  companions;  they  strive  to 
arouse  them  from  their  dangerous  sleep. 
One,  perceiving  his  friend  to  have  some 
signs  of  life  in  him,  procures  a  rod;  he 
lays  it  on  unsparingly  ;  he  finds  himself 
benefited  by  the  exercise ;  he  continues 
it;  he  is  successful;  he  saves  the  life  of 
his  friend;  they  continue  actively  em- 
ployed until  deliverance  appears.  Thus, 
then,  lives  are  preserved.  The  rest, 
cast  into  the  deep  sleep  of  death,  are 
left  to  the  beasts  of  prey. 

The  xcintry  atmosphere  represents  that 
spiritual  declension  that  too  frequently 
happens.  Piety  is  in  danger  of  freez- 
ing to  death.  The  Church  has  gone  too 
far  north.  The  thermometer  of  holi- 
ness has  sunk  almost  to  zero.  The  sun 
of  righteousness  casts  but  a  few  feeble 


flickering  raj's  athwart  the  gloom  pro- 
found. Fearful  state  indeed!  The  still- 
ness of  spiritual  death  prevails.  The 
shaggy  one  alone  is  alive  and  active. 
"He  goeth  about  as  a  roaring  lion 
seeking  whom  he  may  devour."  The 
voice  of  prayer  is  hushed.  No  joyful 
halleluiahs  break  the  monotony  of  the 
awful  solitude.  Doctrine  and  discipline 
are  neglected.  Even  the  all-sustaining 
Word  of  God  is  forsaken.  Melancholy 
position!  She  will  soon  become  a  mere 
iceberg,  dashing  herself  and  others  into 
oblivion.  It  has  sometimes  occurred 
that,  by  the  faithful  j)rayers  and  active 
labors  of  one  saint,  the  Church  has  been 
brought  out  of  the  wintry  atmosphere 
and  been  saved.  This  one  living  dis- 
ciple brings  the  Avhole  Church  to  Jesus, 
the  Son  of  Righteousness,  and  keeps 
her  there  by  foith  until  the  whole  tide 
of  Ms  rays  fall  full  upon  her.  Her 
frozen  heart  now  begins  to  thaw;  soon 
it  melts  into  penitence  and  love;  now 
the  voice  of  prayer  breaks  forth  as  the 
morning;  the  song  of  praise  again 
mounts  upward;  God's  house  is  filled 
with  worshipers;  ministers  are  clothed 
wnth  salvation;  converts  are  multiplied, 
and  the   sons   of  God   shout   aloud   foi 

The  wintry  atmosphere  may,  further- 
more, denote  the  condition  of  individual 
Christians  when  thrown  into  the  society 
of  the  wicked,  when  compelled,  in  the 
order  of  providence,  to  dwell  in  the 
"tents  of  Kedar."  In  the  absence  of 
the  genial  influcrses  of  religious  ordi- 
nances, the  freezing  influences  of  un- 
godly principles  and  practices  prevail. 
Infidelity  itself  may,  perhaps,  lift  up 
its  daring  front,  and  defy  the  God  of 
the  armies  of  Israel — deny  the  inspira 
tion  of  the  sacred  page,  and  laugh  the 
Christian  to  scorn  as  a  weak  enthusiast. 
If  unwatchful,  the  professor  will  at  first 
fall  a  prey  to  the  stupor  of  indifterence. 
Then  the  chilling  influence  of  sin  will 
creep  over  him;  the  life's  blood  of  his 
piety   is   arrested   in  its  course;   heart 


EELIGIOUS    ALLEGOEIES, 


51 


and  intellect  are  benumbed;  Faith,  Hope,  and 
Love  are  now  but  indistinct  images  of  the 
past.     He  is  in  danger  of  spiritual  death. 

As  in  the  engraving,  we  see  one  arousing 
his  companions  with  a  rod  or  stick,  so  the 
Christian  should  endeavor  to  awaken  his 
brother  when  he  sees  him  falling  beneath  the 
influence  of  a  wicked  atmosphere.  He  may 
possess  more  Christian  experience  or  more 
spiritual  understanding;  he  has  a  stronger 
faith  or  is  better  acquainted  with  the  wiles  of 
the  devil;  tliese  are  so  many  gifts  or  graces, 
that  he  is  in  duty  bound  to  exert  for  the  sal- 
vation of  his  brother;  hence,  he  is  to  exhort 
and  admonish  him  with  all  long-suffering  and 
faithfulness.  If  this  fails,  he  is  to  reprove, 
nay,  to  "  rebuke  him  sharply,"  and  in  no  wise 
to  suffer  sin  upon  his  brother.  Though  it 
may  seem  harsh,  yet  he  is  to  persevere  as  long 
as  any  signs  of  life  remain,  lest  he  perish  for 
whom  Christ  died;  he  will  tell  him  of  the 
danger  to  which  he  exposes  his  immortal 
soul,  of  the  reproach  he  will  bring  upon  re- 
ligion if  he  falls  into  sin,  of  the  wounds  he 
will  again  inflict  upon  the  sacred  heart  of 
Jesus;  that  he  will  cover  heaven  with  sack- 
cloth, and  make  hell  echo  with  exultations  of 
fiendish  delight;  he  will  not  spare  in  order  to 
arouse  him  from  his  slumber.  With  the  ham- 
mer of  God's  Word  he  will  strike  him,  with 
the  sword  of  God's  Spirit  he  will  pierce  him, 
and  with  the  fuel  of  God's  love  he  will  en- 
kindle a  fire  round  about  him.  He  is  8ucces.s- 
ful;  soon  the  sleeper  moves;  he  ftielts,  he 
weeps,  he  prays;  in  his  gratitude,  he  exclaim.s, 
"  Let  the  righteous  smite  me,  it  is  an  excel- 
lent oil  unto  me;"  faithful  are  the  wounds  of 
a  friend!  Thus  the  active  Christian,  by  his 
perseverance,  under  God,  saves  a  soul  from 
death,  and  hides  a  multitude  of  sins. 

Most  beneficial,  also,  has  the  exercise  been 
to  himself;  it  has  proved  the  means  of  his 
own  safety;  by  it  he  has  been  kept  watchful 
and  prayerful ;  his  gifts  aOd  graces  have  been 
strengthened;  the  more  he  labored  for  his 
brother,  the  more  he  was  blessed  in  his  own 
soul.  So  true  is  the  promise,  "  He  that  water- 
eth  others,  shall  be  watered  also  himself" 

The  wintry  atmosphere  is  such  a  dangerous 
region  that  the  Almighty  himself  becomes,  aa 


it  were,  alarmed  for  the  safety  of  his  children 
when  he  sees  them  exposed  to  its  influence; 
he  uses  the  rod  of  correction  in  order  to  keep 
them  awake;  he  uses  it  in  love;  whom  he 
loveth  he  chasteneth.  Woe!  woe!  unto  us, 
when  he  commands  the  ministers  of  afHiction 
to  ''let  us  alone."  Poverty,  reproach,  sick- 
ness, and  death  are  employed  by  our  heavenly 
Father  as  instruments  of  correction,  yet  they 
are  blessings  in  disguise.  He  gives  us  poverty 
in  time,  that  we  may  be  invested  with  the 
riches  of  eternity ;  reproach,  that  we  may  re- 
ceive the  plaudits  of  the  King  Eternal;  sick- 
ness of  body,  that  the  soul  may  flourish  in 
innnortal  health  ;  Death,  to  usher  us  into  Life, 
into  his  immediate  presence,  that  where  he  is 
there  we  may  be  also.  God's  children  have 
borne  witness  in  time,  and  they  will  bear  wit- 
ne.ss  to  all  eternity,  "That  it  was  good  for 
them  to  have  been  afHicted." 

"  Long  unafflicted,  undismayed, 
In  pleasure's  path  secure  I  strayed; 
Thou  mad'st  me  feel  the  chastening  rod. 
And  straight  I  turned  unto  my  God; 
What  though  it  pierced  my  fainting  heart, 
I  blessed  the  hand  that  caused  the  smart, 
I  taught  my  tears  awhile  to  flow. 
But  saved  me  from  eternal  woe." 


"In  sable  cincture,  shadows  vast, 
Deep-tinged  and  damp,  and  congregated  clouds, 
And  all  the  vapory  turbulence  of  heaven, 
Involve  the  face  of  things.     Thus  winter  falls, 
A  heavy  gloom  oppressive  o'er  the  world. 
Through  Nature  shedding  influence  malign." 
"Ocean  itself  no  longer  can  resist 
The  binding  fury;   but,  in  all  its  rage 
Of  tempest  taken  by  the  boundless  frost, 
Is  many  a  fathom  to  the  bottom  chained ; 
And  bid  to  roar  no  more — a  bleak  expanse, 
Shagged  o'er  with  wavy  rocks,  cheerless  and  void 
Of  every  life;   that  from  the  dreary  months 
Flies  conscious  southward.     Miserable  they! 
Who,  here  entangled  in  the  gathering  ice, 
Take  their  last  look  of  the  descending  sun; 
While,  full  of  death,  and  fierce  with  tenfold  frost, 
The  long,  long  night,  incumbent  o'er  tlieir  heads, 
Falls  horrible.'' — Thompson. 


11 


52 


EELIGIOUS    ALLEGOEIES. 


1  PETEK, 

Chap,  v: 

verse  8. 


PSALM, 
xxxiv  : 

verse  7. 


2  KINGS, 

Chap,  vi : 
verse  17. 


PSALM 

iii : 
verse  6. 


1  PETER, 

Chap,  iii: 
verse  12. 


PROVERBS, 

Chap,  ii: 
verse  8. 


PSALM 

xxvii : 
verse  11. 


PSALM 
Ixxxiv : 
verse  7. 


THE   PROTECTED   TRAVELER. 

For  /,  saith  the  Lord,  will  he a  wall  of  fire  round  about. 

Zech.  II:  5. 


•Tis  night:  the  Traveler  with  labor  spent, 
Beneath  the  forest's  shade  has  pitched  his  tent; 
He  and  his  household  soon  are  fast  asleep, 
Their  toilsome  journey  makes  their  slumbers  deep; 
Above  their  heads  the  stars  are  glowing  bright. 
Like  diamonds  sparkling  on  the  breast  of  night; 
This  is  the  signal  for  the  savage  beast 
To  roam  the  forest  for  his  bloody  feast; 
Leopards  and  lions  round  the  tent  now  prowl. 
And  wake  the  woodland  with  their  fearful  howl; 
The  Traveler,  startled  at  the  dreadful  sound, 


A  blazing  fire  soon  kindles  all  around; 

The  monsters  see  it,  and  with  horrid  roar, 

Rush  through  the  thicket  and  appear  no  more. 

As  when  Elisha  "mid  the  Syrian  band, 

Saw  sword  and  spear  arrayed  on  every  hand, 

In  gracious  answer  to  the  prophet's  prayer, 

Angelic  banners  flashed  upon  the  air; 

Jehovah's  armies  round  about  him  came 

With  burning  chariots  and  steeds  of  flame; 

The  fiery  seraphs  circled  all  his  path, 

And  kept  him  safely  from  the  Syrian's  wrath. 


In  these  days  of  emigration,  multi- 1  populous  cities  of  the  old  world  are 
tudes  are  continually  leaving  the  homes  traversed;  the  broad  blue  ocean  ie 
of  their  fathers  for  distant  climes.    The  ]  traversed;  the  vast  forests  of  the  new 


EELIGIOUS    ALLEGORIES. 


53 


"U'orld  are  traversed,  in  order  to  find  a 
home  of  peace  and  plenty.  The  engrav- 
ing shows  a  family  tented  and  guarded 
for  the  night.  The  travelers,  weary  with 
the  day's  journey,  seek  a  commodious 
place  whereon  to  pitch  their  tent.  The 
sun  already  begins  to  sink  below  the 
horizon ;  the  shadows  lengthen,  and 
night,  silent  and  majestic,  assumes  her 
empire  over  the  earth.  Stars  of  glit- 
tering beauty  bespangle  her  bosom  and 
reflect  their  brilliancy  on  the  broad 
leaves  of  the  forest.  _  The  travelei's  re- 
tii-e  to  rest;  wooed  by  fatigue,  "balmy 
sleep"  soon  lights  upon  their  eyelids; 
their  slumbers  are  deep,  but  they  are 
soon  to  be  disturbed.  Kight  gives  the 
signal  for  the  beasts  of  prey  to  come 
forth  from  their  dens;  liungry  and 
thirsty  for  blood,  they  come;  roaming, 
ravening,  and  roaring,  they  come;  the 
Woods  echo  their  fearful  bowlings;  they 
scent  out  the  travelers,  they  surround 
the  tent,  the}^  clamor  loudly  for  its  in- 
mates; dreadful  is  the  confusion;  the 
beasts  growl  and  fight  with  each  other, 
that  each  might  have  the  prey  to  him- 
self; the  travelers  awake  in  trembling 
distress.  One  of  them  has  heard  of  the 
effect  of  fire  upon  wild  beasts;  while 
they  are  quarreling,  he  quickly  lights 
his  brand,  puts  it  to  some  dry  leaves, 
and  kindles  a  blaze;  to  this  he  adds 
more  fuel,  nor  ceases  heaping  it  on,  till 
he  has  encircled  the  tent  with  flames. 
His  efforts  are  successful;  the  wild 
beasts  are  now  affrighted,  and  roaring 
dreadfully  with  fear  and  rage,  they  rush 
impetuously  through  the  trees,  and 
come  near  the  tent  no  more. 

The  preservation  of  the  traveler  from 
the  fury  of  the  wild  beasts  by  means 
of  fire,  represents  the  preservation  of 
the  Christian  from  the  attacks  of  Satan 
and  his  helpers,  by  the  Almighty. 
Among  the  Jews,  and  many  other  an- 
cient nations,  fire  Avas  regarded  as  em- 
blematical of  the  Deity,  and,  indeed,  not 
without  reason,  for  on  several  well-au- 
thenticated instances  did  the  Almighty 


manifest  himself  under  the  appearance 
of  fire.  Moses  was  summoned  before  a 
court  of  fire  to  receive  his  commission 
as  deliverer  of  Israel.  God  was  in  the 
fire.  In  their  flight  from  Egypt,  and 
after  travels  in  the  desert,  the  Israel- 
ites were  guided  by  a  column  of  fire. 
Their  salvation  and  the  Egyptians' 
overthrow,  for  Jehovah  was  there.  In 
his  reception  of  the  sacrifices  and  pray- 
ers of  his  people,  God  answered  by 
fire.  "When  he  gave  his  law  upon  the 
terrible  Mount,  he  spake  out  of  the 
midst  of  the  fire.  And  when  long  after 
he  would  republish  his  law  to  rdl  na- 
tions, the  commission  of  the  Apostles 
as  the  deliverers  of  the  world,  was 
crowned  with  fire;  God  was  with  them, 
and  to  be  with  them  to  the  end  of  the 
world. 

The  Christian  is  a  traveler;  he  is 
traveling  through  the  wilderness  of 
this  world;  he  will  pass  through  it 
only  once;  in  whatever  part  of  the 
wilderness  he  pitches  his  tent,  he  is 
safe  from  all  the  open  attacks  of  his 
foes;  his  faith,  love,  and  obedience  se- 
cure to  him  the  protection  of  the  Al- 
mighty, lie  is  holy  in  heart  and  life; 
holiness  tends  to  God's  glory,  and  upon 
'•the  glory  there  is  a  defense;"  this  is 
the  glory  that  dwells  in  the  inidst  of 
him,  and  where  this  is,  there  will  be 
also  "the  wall  of  fire  round  about." 
The  celestial  fire  burning  between  the 
Cherubim  in  the  Jewish  temple  but 
shadowed  forth  him  in  whose  heart 
Christ  dwells  by  faith — the  living  "  tem- 
ple of  the  Holy  Spirit." 

Since  his  expulsion  from  the  realms 
of  light,  the  Devil  has  hated  with  per- 
fect hatred  every  symbol  of  Jehovah's 
presence  and  glory;  he  hates  the  light; 
he  is  the  prince  of  darkness;  he  is  the 
great  extinguisher,  putting  out  the  light 
of  truth  and  holiness  as  often  as  he  can 
effect  it.  He  thought  to  extinguish  the 
"Light  of  the  World,"  by  nailing  it  to 
a  tree,  but,  in  so  doing,  he  onlj^  broke 
into  pieces  the  vase  that  contained  it, 


54 


EELIGIOUS    ALLEGOEIES. 


causing  it  to  shine  forth  with  brilliancy,  and 
to  fill  the  whole  earth  with  glory. 

The  great  adversary  is  spoken  of  as  "going 
about"  the  world  as  a  roaring  lion,  "seeking 
whom  he  may  devour;"  once,  when  prowling 
about  in  this  wise,  he  met  with  one  of  the 
saints  of  God,  wliom  he  desired  to  worry  and 
devour,  hut  behold !  there  was  a  hedge  of 
burning  bushes  all  around  him.  In  vain  he 
tried  to  get  at  him  ;  though  used  to  fire,  he 
could  not  stand  the  fire  of  love  and  holiness; 
lie  knew  very  well,  too,  that  no  one  could  put 
out  this  fire,  demolish  this  burner,  except  the 
man  himself  Satan  is  permitted  to  tempt; 
he  lays  his  plots  with  hellish  ingenuity;  he 
execut^is  them  with  cruelty  worthy  of  a  devil ; 
to  destroy  this  man  of  God,  he  called  into  his 
eervice  the  pestilence,  the  sword,  the  tornado, 
and  the  lightning.  The  lightning  came  and 
did  its  work ;  the  sword  came  and  did  its 
work;  the  pestilence  came  and  did  its  work; 
the  tornado  came  and  did  its  work;  yet  the 
man  of  God  is  safe;  he  lives  in  his  integrity; 
the  hedge  of  fire  around  him  burns  higher 
and  brighter,  and  becomes  a  beacon  of  hope 
to  all  the  children  of  men.  The  devil,  dis- 
comfited, leaves  him,  and  flees  away  to  his 
own  place,  because  "Job  sinned  not  nor 
charged  God  foolishly." 

In  like  manner  every  child  of  God  is  sur- 
rounded by  a  divine  protection;  the  servants 
of  Satan  are  just  like  their  master;  they  hate 
the  light,  and  him  that  brings  it;  but  were 
they  to  beset  him,  as  the  Assyrian  army  be- 
set the  prophet  Elisha,  he  would  be  safe.  The 
chariots  of  fire,  and  the  horses  of  fire,  with 
Seraphim  and  Cherubim,  would  encompass 
him.  He  may  lay  him  down  in  peace;  a  wall 
of  fire  protects  him,  high  as  heaven,  deeper 
than  hell,  wide  as  eternity;  fire!  fire!  fire! 
formless,  impetuous,  mysterious,  and  devour- 
ing fire,  is  his  safeguard  and  trust. 

As  the  traveler  by  building  a  fire  protects 
not  himself  only,  but  all  who  are  in  the  tent, 
BO  the  Christian,  by  his  faith,  love,  and  obe- 
dience, secures  the  protection  and  blessing  of 
God  upon  all  his  houseliold.  "  I  will  show 
mercy,"  saith  the  Holy  One  of  Israel,  "unto 
thousands  of  generations  of  those  that  love 
me  and  keep  my  commandments;"  and  one 
who  had  lived  long  in  the  world,  and  had  seen 
much  of  it,  declared,  "  I  have  never  seen  the 
righteous  forsaken,  nor  his  posterity  begging 
bread." 

The  traveler  may  put  out  his  fire  without 
water;  he  can  do  it  by  omitting  to  supply  it 
with  fuel,  or  by  casting  earth  upon  it,  thereby 


smothering  it,  and  thus  expose  himself  and 
others  with  him  to  all  the  dangers  of  the  for- 
est. So  the  Christian  may  extinguish  the  fire 
of  Almighty  protection,  the  light  of  the  Holy 
Spirit;  he  may  do  so,  too,  without  employing 
the  waters  of  transgression ;  he  may  do  it  by 
withholding  the  proper  fuel,  by  "  leaving  off 
to  do  good,"  by  neglecting  the  means  of  grace. 
He  may  do  it  by  casting  earth  upon  it,  by  let- 
ting the  world  gain  the  ascendency  in  his  heart 
and  affections;  the  love  of  the  world  will  put 
out  the  fire,  "quench  the  Spirit."  and  leave 
the  man  again  exposed  to  the  malice  of  the 
evil  one. 

In  the  Book  of  the  Prophets  we  read  of  some 
who  "kindle  a  fire"  and  walk  in  the  light 
thereof,  who  yet  "  lie  down  in  sorrow,"  they 
are  not  safe;  these  may  be  the  self-righteous, 
the  mere  nominal  professor,  who  builds  a  fire 
with  the  wood,  hay,  and  stubble  of  his  own 
performances;  it  lacks  th«  heat  of  love  anil 
holiness;  God  is  not  in  it.  Satan  heeds  it  not ; 
he  breaks  through  it  as  easily  as  a  lion  through 
a  cobweb,  and  seizes  upon  the  defenseless  sin- 
ner for  a  prey. 

Of  others,  it  is  said  that  they  "  encompass 
themselves  about  with  sparks  merely;  this 
may  mean  those  who  esteem  themselves  good 
enough  already,  good  naturally;  hence,  tliey 
have  no  need  of  performances  of  any  kind. 
The  man  of  this  class  neglects,  as  useless,  the 
light  of  truth,  and  faith,  and  the  fire  of  love; 
he  can  dispense  with  Bible,  Priest,  and  Temple  ; 
he  lies  down  in  peril;  the  devil  don't  mind  a 
few  sparks. 

It  was  a  custom  among  the  ancient  high- 
landers  of  Scotland,  when  they  would  arouse 
the  people  for  any  great  purpose,  to  send 
throughout  the  land  a  cross  dipped  in  blood  ; 
wherever  the  cross  was  received,  there  the 
people  immediately  kindled  a  blazing  fire; 
lience  it  was  called  "the  Fire  Cross."  The 
blood-stained  Cross  of  Christ  has  been  sent 
and  is  now  going  throughout  the  world  ;  the 
purpose  for  which  it  is  sent,  the  greatest  of  all 
achievements;  wherever  it  is  received,  a  fire  is 
kindled  amid  the  surrounding  darkness.  The 
fire  of  a  Savior's  love,  the  fire  of  Almighty 
power : 

"  Jesus'  love  the  nations  fires. 
Sets  the  kingdoms  in  a  blaze.' 

Hasten !  O  hasten  !  ye  who  bear  the  cross,  ye 
ministers  ofhis  that  do  his  pleasure;  carry  round 
"  the  Cross"  until  a  fire  shall  be  kindled  every 
where,  and  the  whole  earth  be  filled  with  tho 
glory  of  God. 


EELIGIOTJS    ALLEGOEIES. 


55 


2  CHRONICLES, 

Chap.  XV : 

verse  2. 


MATTHEW, 
Chap,  vii: 

verses  7,  8. 


MATTHEW, 

Chap,  xiii; 

verse  46. 


2  PETER, 

Chap,  i: 
verse  1. 


REVELATION, 

Chap,  xxi : 

verse  7. 


PROVERBS, 

Chap,  ii: 
verses  4,  5. 


ROMANS, 

Chap,  viii: 

verse  17. 


THE  PEARL  OF  GREAT  PRICE. 


For  ye  arc  bought  with  a  j^nee.     1   Cor    vi 
seek  me  early  shall  find  yne.     Prov.  viir:  17. 


20. 


■  Those  that 


Behold  the  slave  with  joyful  beaming  eyes, 
Holds  up  to  view  his  glorious  glittei'ing  prize; 
A  pearl,  more  precious  than  its  weight  in  gold; 
The  price  of  Freedom,  and  of  bliss  untold: 
The  prince  who  promised  the  auspicious  meed, 
From  his  rich  palace  hastens  down  with  speed; 
With  his  own  hand — unrolled  that  all  may  see — 
The  title-deed  presents  of  Liberty, 


The  slave  may  enter  now  that  mansion  fair, 

A  slave  no  longer,  but  a  rightful  heir.  , 

So  when  the  sinner  by  Apollyon  bound, 

The  priceless  pearl  of  Gospel  grace  has  found; 

He  breaks  his  chains,  and  into  Freedom  springs, 

No  more  a  slave,  ne  ranks  with  priests  and  kings; 

By  the  great  Lord  of  all,  to  him   tis  given, 

To  be  his  child  on  earth,  and  heir  in  heaven. 


A  certain  Prince,  desirous  of  adorn-    owns,    upon    his  manor,   a  "  Fishery," 


ing  his  coronet  with  a  pearl  of  the 
greatest  value,  promises  liberty  to  any 
one  of  his  slaves  who  shall  find  one  of 


where  the  slaves,  at  proper  seasons  of 
the  year,  dive  for  pearls.  The  usual 
mode  of  operation  is  as  follows:     The 


a  certain  number  of  carats;  the  Prince  1  divers,  throwing  off  their  clothes,  dresa 


56 


EELIGIOrs    AljljJECfOIlIES, 


themselves  in  complete  suits  of  white 
cotton  ;  this  is  to  protect  their  bodies 
from  the  contact  of  the  medusae,  or  sea- 
nettles  ;  then  each  diver,  letting  himself 
over  the  side  of  the  boat,  places  his  feet 
upon  a  stone,  which  is  held  by  the 
'seibor  or  puller  up.  On  his  left  ai-m  he 
carries  a  small  basket  to  hold  the  oys- 
ters he  may  collect  (the  pearl  is  found 
in  the  fleshy  part,  near  the  joint  of  the 
shell) ;  then  closing  his  nostrils  with  a 
piece  of  elastic  horn,  he  gives  the  sig- 
nal with  his  arm,  and  is  immediately 
lowered  down ;  the  stone  enables  him 
to  sink  without  difficult}'.  Here,  in  a 
period  varj-ing  from  thirty  to  a  hun- 
dred seconds,  he  employs  himself  in  fill- 
ing his  basket.  As  soon  as  this  is 
done,  or  if  he  wants  breath,  he  jerks 
the  rope,  and  is  immediately  hauled  to 
the  surface. 

In  the  engraving  is  seen  the  fortunate 
slave,  who  has  secured  the  prize;  as 
soon  as  he  discovers  his  good  fortune, 
forsaking  boat  and  basket,  he  leaps 
overboard  and  makes  toward  the  shore, 
exclaiming,  "  I  've  found  it!  I  've  found 
it !"  Others  shout  with  him ;  the  Prince, 
his  master,  hears  the  tumult,  and  learn- 
ing the  cause,  repairs  without  delay  to 
the  bank  of  the  river,  to  receive  the 
pearl,  and  to  bestow  on  the  finder  the 
promised  reward,  where,  in  the  pres- 
ence of  all,  he  reads  his  deed  of  manu- 
mission, and  proclaims  him  free.  And 
he  is  free;  his  head,  and  heart,  and 
hands  are  now  his  own;  he  is  now  free. 

Happy  man!  Liberty,  fair  sister  of 
Piety,  has  stooped  upon  the  wing  to 
bless  him.  Nor  is  this  all;  he  is  free  to 
call  his  former  master  Abba,  that  is, 
father,  and  his  mistress,  Imma,  that  is, 
mother;  he  is,  according  to  custom, 
adopted  as  a  son;  his  future  path  is 
irradiated  with  knowledge,  wisdom,  and 
happiness. 

By  the  slave  finding  the  costly  pearl, 
nnd  obtaining  thereby  his  liberty,  is 
signified  the  sinner,  who  finds  "the 
Kingdom  of  Heaven;"  or  who,  in  other 


words,  experiences  religion;  this  puts 
him  into  possession  of  a  liberty  more 
precious  than  gold,  and  more  to  be  de- 
sired than  fine  gold : 

A  liberty  unsung 
By  Poets,  and  by  Senators  unpraised; 
Which  iiionarchs  can   not  grant,  nor  all  the 

powers 
Of  earth  and  liell  confederate,  takeaway: 
A  liberty  which  persecution,  fraud, 
Oppression,  prisons,  have  no  power  to  bind; 
Which,  who  so  tastes,  will  be  enslaved  no  more. 

This  is  the  liberty  of  Gospel  salvation  ; 
a  sinner  is  a  slave — a  slave  not  to  one 
master,  but  to  many,  who  exercise  over 
him  a  cruel  despotism.  Satan  takes 
the  lead  in  tyrannizing  over  him;  it  is 
true,  he  is  a  willing  slave,  but  not  the 
less  a  slave  for  that ;  for  let  him  but  try 
to  free  himself  from  his  power,  and  he  at 
once  feels  that  he  is  bound;  Satan  is  his 
lord  and  master;  he  says  to  him  "go, 
and  he  goeth  ;  come,  and  he  cometh;  do 
this,  and  he  doeth  it."  He  is  a  captive, 
led  about  just  as  the  devil  pleases. 
Miserable  bondage  !  *S'm  has  dominion 
over  him;  forbidden  objects  control  hia 
passions,  and  his  passions  control  hia 
will;  he  is  enslaved  to  the  law  of  sin, 
he  is  chained  to  "  this  body  of  death." 
Sin  wields  over  him  its  scepter  with  des- 
potic sway;  "he  is  sold  under  sin;" 
even  when  he  would  do  good,  evil  is 
present  with  him.  Again,  he  is  a  slave 
to  the  terrors  of  the  law;  Mount  Sinai 
still  stands,  giving  forth  its  dreadful 
voice  of  many  thunders,  and  emitting 
its  flashes  of  devouring  fire;  he  stands 
quaking  and  trembling  beneath  its  fear- 
ful brow.  He  is  also  "  subject  to  bond- 
age through  fear  of  death;"  although 
he  may  make  a  show  of  courage,  when 
among  his  guilty  companions,  over  the 
bottle,  or  on  the  battle-field,  yet  he 
dreads  his  approach;  his  very  image 
embitters  his  sweetest  pleasure,  and 
makes  him  miserable.  These  are  some 
of  the  lords  that  exercise  dominion  over 
the  poor  sinner;  verily,  he  is  bound! 

The  King  of  Holiness  ofl'ers   liberty 


EELIGIOUS    ALLEGOEIES 


57 


to  the  sinner,  on  condition  that  he  ex- 
ercise "repentance  toward  God,  and 
faith  in  Jesus  Christ;"  thus  runs  the 
proclamation.  The  slave  who  found 
the  pearl  was  obedient.  What  did  he 
know  at  first  about  pearls?  He  might 
have  argued  with  himself,  at  least,  that 
it  was  impossible  that  such  uncouth, 
muddy  oysters  could  contain  such 
priceless  gems,  and  so  have  given  up 
the  idea,  and  with  it  freedom;  but  he 
sought  in  the  manner  prescribed,  and* 
found;  thus  his  obedience  secured  an 
ample  reward. 

Salvation  is  found  only  by  those  who 
seek  aright.  That  the  sinner  might  not 
lose  his  labor,  the  Almighty  Lord  tells 
him  where  it  may  be  found;  he  tells  him 
to  look  for  it  in  his  word,  in  his  house, 
and  ordinances;  he  tells  him  how  he  is 
to  conduct  the  search ;  he  is  to  lay  aside 
his  self-righteousness  and  put  on  sack- 
cloth; he  is  to  descend  into  the  depths 
of  humility,  and  there,  by  earnest,  per- 
severing prayer,  and  living  faith,  to 
seek  until  he  finds;  and  the  promise  is, 
"  If  thou  seekest  her  as  silver,  and 
searchest  for  her  as  for  hid  treasure, 
then  shalt  thou  understand  the  fear  of 
the  Lord,  and  find  the  knowledge  of 
God." 

But  who  shall  describe  the  glorious 
liberty  of  the  children  of  God.  Satan 
reigns  and  tyrannizes  over  them  no 
longer;  his  chain  is  broken,  his  alleg- 
iance is  renounced;  he  is  no  longer  the 
proud  conqueror,  leading  his  captive  in 
chains;  he  lies  bruised  beneath  the 
Christian's  feet;  he  may  threaten,  but 
he  can  not  harm;  he  may  tempt,  but 
he  can  not  compel. 

He  who  finds  Gospel  freedom  is  de- 
livered from  the  dominion  of  sin;  his 
understanding  is  now  enlightened,  the 
darkness  of  ignorance  has  passed,  the 
true  light  now  shines  ;  his  mind  is  now 
free — free  to  do  good.  He  takes  pleas- 
ure in  righteousness.  "O,"  he  exclayns, 
"  how  I  iove  thy  law !"  Henceforth  the 
testimonies  of  Jehovah  are  the  songs 


of  his  rejoicing  in  the  house  of  his 
pilgrimage;  in  him  the  promise  is  ful- 
filled, "Sin  shall  not  have  dominion  over 
you.' 

From  the  curse  of  the  law,  more- 
over, he  is  free.  Jesus  has  been  made 
a  curse  for  him ;  there  is,  therefore,  now 
no  condemnation;  for  him  the  fires  of 
Sinai  no  longer  burn;  Jesus  has  quenched 
them  with  his  blood;  for  him  its  voice 
of  many  thunders  is  forever  hushed; 
Jesus  has  whispered,  "Peace  be  still." 
Death  has  now  for  him  no  more  terrors ; 
death  is  a  vanquished  enemy;  he  is 
numbered  among  his  gains.  Why  should 
he  fear  who  has  beheld  "  the  burst  gates, 
the  demolish  ed  throne,  the  crushed  sting, 
the  last  gasp  of  vanquished  death!" 
Thanks  be  unto  God,  who  giveth  iis  the 
victory  through  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ ! 

O,  the  glorious  liberty  of  the  children 
of  God!  The  slave  has  become  a  son; 
he  ma}'  now  call  God  Abba,  Father,  and 
the  Church  Imma,  Mother ;  he  is  now 
an  heir  of  God,  and  fellow-heir  with 
Jesus  Christ;  he  receives  a  clear  title- 
deed  to  mansions  in  the  skies.  Heaven 
for  him 

Opens  wide 
Her  ever-durins  gates,  liarmonious  sound 
On  golden  binges  turning. 

He  is  now  free  to  see  the  King  in  his 
beauty,  to  see  him  as  he  is  who  loved 
him  and  gave  himself  for  him;  to  hold 
converse  with  angels  and  archangels, 
with  all  the  holy  and  the  wise,  "Glo- 
rious liberty,"  indeed  !  wondrous  free- 
dom! He  is  free  to  explore  the  regions 
of  immortality  and  love;  and  as  the 
years  of  interminable  duration  roll  on- 
ward, he  will  live  yet  more  free. 

"All  hail,  triumphant  Lord, 
"Who.sav'st  us  with  thy  blood; 
Wide  be  thy  name  adored, 
Thou  rising,  reigning  Godl 

With  thee  we  rise, 

With  thee  we  reign, 

And  empires  gain 

Beyond  the  skies." 


58 


KELIGIOUS    ALJ.EGOEIES 


EPHESIAXS, 

Chap,  iii: 
verses  18,  19. 


PSALM 

cxix  : 
verse  130. 


LUKE, 

Chiip.  xxiv: 

verse  45. 


PSALM 
cxix: 

verse  18. 


ISAIAH, 

Chap.  XXV : 
verse  1. 


MATTHEW 

Chap.'  xiii: 

verse  16. 


LUKE, 

Chap,  li : 
verse  30. 


PSALM 

xvii: 
verse  15. 


THE   GREAT  DISCOVERY. 

Blessed  are  your  eyes  for  they  see.     Matt,  xiii :  16 And  to 

know  the  love  of  Christ  lohich  passeth  knowledge.     Eph.  in:  19. 


When  brave  Balboa  gained  the  mountain's  height, 
A  glorious  prospect  burst  upon  his  sight; 
The  great  Pacific  stretched  before  him  lies, 
And  fills  with  new  delight  his  ravished  eyes; 
0  sight  sublime!     It  meets  the  distant  sky, 
The  splendid  image  of  eternity. 
He  gazes  on  that  sea,  his  hope  of  old. 
Whose  waters  wander  by  the  realms  of  gold; 
Visions  of  wealth  and  glory  fill  his  mind. 


And  he  forgets  the  toils  he  left  behind. 
The  dream  is  i-ealized!   that  dream  sublime. 
That  bore  him  onward  through  each  deadly  clime^ 
O'er  burning  mountains  and  o'er  stormy  main, 
Through  death  and  danger,  far  from  ancient  Spain, 
His  bursting  heart  adores  that  mighty  Power 
That  brought  him  safely  to  behold  this  hour; 
He  prostrate  falls,  his  grateful  homage  pays, 
And  to  the  God  of  heaven  devoutly  prays. 


Above  is  portrayed  the  great  discov- 
ery of  the  Pacific  Ocean,  made  by  Bal- 
boa, a  Spanish  cavalier.  Balboa  had, 
for  some  time,  settled  down  in  Hispan- 
iola     Here  he  cultivated  a  farm;  but 


hearing  of  an  expedition  that  was  about 
to  set  out  for  the  west,  he  determined 
to  join  it.  He  was  greatly  in  debt,  and 
the  governor  had  issued  a  proclamation 
forbidding  debtors  to  leave  the  island. 


EELIGIOUS    ALLEGOEIES. 


59 


Balboa,  however,  was  resolved  to  go. 
He  caused  himself  to  be  rolled  on  board 
of  one  of  the  vessels  in  a  cask.  He  did 
not  make  his  appearance  until  the  ship 
was  far  out  at  sea.  The  commander  at 
first  threatened  to  send  him  back  ;  but 
the  ship  i^ursued  her  way.  He  quickly 
rose  into  favor,  became  governor  of  the 
colony  planted  at  the  isthmus,  and  dis- 
tinguished himself  by  the  talents  of 
command.  Rumors  of  the  gold  coun- 
try still  further  westward  continued  to 
inflame  the  minds  of  the  Spaniards. 
Distance,  disease,  mountains  covered 
with  eternal  snows,  and  oceans  tossed 
by  perpetual  storms  could  no  longer 
restrain  them.  Balboa  took  the  lead  of 
the  expedition,  and  pushed  on  to  con- 
quest. Many  of  the  Indian  tribes  were 
to  be  conquered.  These  brave  but  de- 
fenseless waiTiors  soon  fell  before  the 
arms  of  the  Spaniards,  who,  the  more 
blood  they  shed,  the  more  they  thirsted 
for  gold.  An  alliance  was  formed  with 
a  powerful  cazique,  who  sent  Balboa  a 
rich  present  in  gold  and  slaves.  On 
the  daring  Spaniard  led  his  soldiers 
Indian  tribes  were  conquered,  mount- 
ain difficulties  passed,  and  burning, 
sickly  regions  traversed.  Now  the 
moment  is  at  hand  when  he  is  to  bo 
more  than  recompensed  for  all  his 
labors.  The  misty  summits  of  the  hills 
rise  before  him.  One  of  these  is  pointed 
out  to  him  as  the  object  of  his  search. 
He  commands  his  troops  to  halt.  He 
Limself  ascends  the  hill  alone,  with  his 
drawn  sword.  Having  reached  the  top, 
ho  casts  his  eyes  around;  the  Pacific 
spreads  out  before  him;  imbued  with 
the  religion  of  his  country,  he  falls  on 
his  knees,  weeping,  and  offers  thanks 
to  God  for  permitting  him  to  see  this 
glorious  sight.  On  his  return  to  Darien, 
the  whole  population  poured  forth  to 
meet  him.  They  hailed  him  as  the 
glory  of  Spain,  as  the  gift  of  heaven 
sent  to  guide  them  into  the  possession 
of  honors  and  riches  incalculable. 
The  Pacific  Ocean,  and  its  discovery 


by  the  bold  Spaniard,  may  serve  to  il- 
lustrate the  ocean  of  Grod's  love,  and  the 
joyful  feelings  of  him  who,  for  the 
first  time,  discovers  it.,  The  sinner  is 
settled  down  in  his  sins ;  he  is  em- 
ployed in  cultivating  Satan's  husbandry ; 
"•he  is  sowing  to  the  flesh."  He  hears 
of  a  revival  of  religion,  of  an  expedi- 
tion heavenward;  he  is  determined  to 
join  it;  ho  is  in  debt — dead  in  tres- 
passes and  sins.  Satan,  his  governor, 
will  not  permit  him  to  quit.  He  hedges 
up  his  way  round  about  him.  He  is, 
however,  resolved  to  join  the  expedi- 
tion that  is  bound  for  heaven.  By  a 
violent  effort  he  escapes  and  joins  the 
converts.  He  is  decided;  he  seeks  ear- 
nestly the  salvation  of  his  soul.  His 
way  is  now  beset  with  difliculties  ;  ene- 
mies appear  on  every  hand  to  impede 
his  progress;  his  old  companions  come 
to  entice  him,  his  old  sins  come  to 
tempt  him,  and  his  old  master  strides 
before  him  the  whole  breadth  of  the 
way. 

He  now  strengthens  his  alliances.with 
the  children  of  God.  He  receives  some- 
times some  gracious  tokens  of  the  di- 
vine favor;  ho  is  encouraged  to  perse- 
vere ;  on  he  goes,  weeping,  praying, 
wrestling,  fighting.  His  old  companions 
are  silenced;  his  sins  no  longer  have  do- 
minion over  him,  and  Satan  falls  liko 
lightning  from  heaven.  Now  the  time 
of  triumph  is  near,  when  he  will  be 
more  than  paid  for  all  he  has  endured. 
His  heavenly  guide  directs  him  to  the 
object  of  his  inquiries.  He  ascends 
alone  the  mount — the  sacred  mount  of 
Calvary.  Ho  casts  his  ej^es  around; 
the  peaceful  ocean  of  Almighty  love 
spreads  out  before  him.  There  it  lays, 
covering  all  time  and  extending  to  eter- 
nity— immense,  boundless,  overwhelm 
ing. 

When  this  Almighty  sea  of  love 

His  ri8in<T  soul  surveys, 
Transported  with  the  view  he's  lost 

In  wonder,  love,  and  praise. 

All  is  peaceful  above,  below,  within. 


60 


RELIGIOUS    ALLEGORIES, 


around.  He  has  peace  with  God  through  our 
Lord  Jesus  Christ.  A  peace  which  passeth 
all  understanding  fills  his  breast.  He  is  at 
peace  with  man  and  beast.  It  is  as  the  open- 
ing of  the  gate  of  heaven  to  his  soul.  An 
immense  region  of  truth,  divine  truth,  is  laid 
bare  to  his  view.  A  new  and  heavenly  light 
flashes  over  his  mind.  Old  things  have  passed 
away,  and  all  things  have  become  new. 

On  this  mount  of  vision  he  discovers  that 
God  is  love — not  only  lovely  and  loving,  but 
love^  nothing  but  love.  In  his  nature  and 
operations,  love — pure,  unexampled  love.  Here 
he  beholds  the  Son  of  God,  the  maker  of  earth, 
the  well  beloved  of  heaven,  sufiering  and  dying 
for  liim,  for  all,  for  a  world  of  sinners.  For 
the  foulest  of  the  foul,  he  dies.  He  beholds, 
with  astonishment,  the  tokens  of  his  love. 
Earth  is  suddenly  arrested  in  lier  retrograde 
motion,  and  rolled  back  again  to  God.  Strange 
darkness  covers  the  world,  that  all  might 
henceforth  be  light  forever;  the  opened  sep- 
ulchers  proclaim  life  and  immortality.  Here 
he  beholds  a  new  and  living  way  cast  up — a 
highway  from  earth  to  heaven — and  countless 
multitudes,  leaving  behind  them  the  badges  of 
their  guilt,  pollution,  and  wretchedness,  and 
washed  and  clothed  in  the  robes  of  salvation, 
ascend  thereon.  Forward  they  go,  each  one 
walking  in  his  uprightness.  A  cloud  over- 
shadows them  for  a  little  while;  that  is  death. 
Soon  they  ascend  toward  tlie  gates  of  the 
heavenly  city.  Now  the  golden  portals  are 
lifted  up,  and  the  children  of  glory  enter  in. 
A  multitude,  that  none  can  number,  are  thus 
ransomed  from  hell  and  the  grave,  and  all 
through  the  love  of  God  in  Christ  Jesus.  Be- 
hold what  manner  of  love  is  this  that  the 
Father  has  bestowed  on  us,  that  we  should  be 
called  the  sons  of  God.  Well  might  the  rapt 
poet  sing — 

I  rode  on  the  sky, 

Freely  Justified  I, 
Nor  envied  Elijah  his  seat; 

My  soul  mounted  higher, 

In  a  chariot  of  fire, 
And  the  moon  it  was  under  my  feet. 

An  indifferent  spectator,  walking  far  be- 
neath Balboa,  seeing  him  prostrate  on  the 
mount,  and  with  uplifted  hands  offering  his 
thanksgiving,    might    have    laughed    him    to 


scorn  for  a  madman,  or  have  pitied  him  for 
his  weakness.  He  may  not  have  been  so  high. 
He  knows  not  that  the  ocean  exists.  He  per 
haps  denies  its  existence  altogether.  Thus  it 
often  happens  to  the  man  of  the  world,  when 
he  sees  converts,  having  tasted  that  the  Lord 
is  gracious,  give  vent  to  their  feelings  in  a 
lively  manner,  or  when  he  hears  experienced 
Christians  discourse  on  the  love  of  God,  it  is 
foolishness  to  him.  He  considers  the  persons 
so  acting  to  be  "beside  themselves,"  or  very 
weak-minded.  He  may  perhaps  deny  alto- 
gether the  existence  of  vital  godliness  and  re- 
ligious experience;  yet  if  the  skeptic  would 
but  "come  and  see"  for  himself,  he  would 
confess  that  "the  lialf  was  not  told  him." 

In  order  to  make  his  great  discovery,  Bal- 
boa had  to  rise  above  the  world.  So  it  be- 
hooves him  who  would  discover  the  great 
pacific  of  eternal  love,  to  rise  above  sublunary 
things;  especially  must  he  surmount  the  fogs 
of  prejudice,  the  mists  of  ignorance,  and  the 
clouds  of  unbelief  which  surround  the  surface 
of  the  earth. 

Having  made  his  discovery,  the  Spaniard 
was  at  one  rewarded  with  honor  and  glory. 
He  looked  upon  the  past  with  contempt,  as  not 
worthy  to  be  compared  with  the  splendor  that 
awaited  him.  So  he  feels  who  realizes  that 
God  is  love.  He  is  clad  with  the  "  Best  liobe." 
He  looks  with  disgust  on  the  past.  He  hates 
the  vain  pomps  and  glories  of  the  earth;  is 
astonished  at  his  infatuation,  in  being  so  taken 
up  with  them;  and  yet  what  he  now  possesses 
is  but  as  the  drop  to  the  teeming  shower.  The 
wealth  of  eternity  awaits  him. 

Balboa  could  not  explore  his  vast  prize. 
Had  he  traversed  the  ocean  till  this  time,  he 
would  have  gone  over  only  a  small  portion  of 
it;  much  of  it  he  would  never  see.  Realms 
of  gold  lay  glittering  upon  its  placid  margin. 
Mines  of  wealth  lay  hidden  beneath  its  purple 
wave.  He  had  but  found  the  key  of  this 
magazine  of  wealth.  So  the  discoverer  of 
Almighty  love  can  know  but  little  of  his  pre- 
cious prize  while  here  below.  Boundless, 
fathomless,  endless,  it  spreads  out  before  him, 
and  will  ever  spread.  Here  he  merely  sips  of 
its  overflowings.  He  has  but  discovered  the 
key  of  the  treasurediouse  of  love.  O,  the 
depth  of  the  riches,  both  of  the  wisdom  and 
goodness  of  God  I 


EELIGIOUS    ALLEGORIES. 


61 


PSALM 

xxxix: 

verse  12. 


1  PETEE, 
Chap,  i: 
verse  17. 


PSALM 

Ixxvii : 

verse  20. 


HEBEEWS, 
Chap.  XI : 
verse  13. 


1  PETEE, 
Chap,  ii: 
verse  11. 


DEUTEEOMT, 

Chap,  xxxii: 

verse  10. 


1  SAMUEL, 
Chap,  ii: 
verse  9. 


PSALM 

Ixxiii : 

vei'se  24. 


PASSAGE  THROUGH  THE  DESEET. 


They  wandered  in  deserts.     Heh.  xr :  38.- 
coiitinuing  city,  bat  seek  one  to  come.     Heb.  xiii:  14. 


For  here  we  have  no 


Amid  the  arid  desert's  burning  sands, 
The  caravan  proceeds  in  various  bands; 
Jew,  Frank,  and  Miisaulmau,-  in  search  of  gain, 
Unite  to  traverse  the  destructive  plain. 
The  desert  drear,  more  terrible  to  brave. 
Than  furious  tempest  on  the  ocean  wave; 
The  sky  a  molten  dome  of  quiv'ring  heat; 
The  earth  a  furnace,  glows  beneath  the  feet; 
\The  wild  waste  echoes  as  they  move  along, 
,With  laugh  of  humorous  tale  or  voice  of  song. 


Armed,  and  united,  they  no  danger  fear 
From  lions  prowling,  nor  from  robber's  spear; 
But  other  foes  ofttimes  'gainst  them  advance, 
More  to  be  dreaded  than  the  Arab's  lance; 
The  sandy  column,  and  sirocco's  blast. 
Laden  with  certain  death,  come  rushing  past. 
Down  straight  they  fall,  flat  on  their  faces  lie, 
While  the  destroying  angel  passes  by  ; 
Through  varied  dangers,  thus  their  way  they  wend, 
Until  at  length  they  reach  their  journey's  end. 


Here  is  represented  the  passage  of  a 
caravan  through  the  great  and  terrible 
desert  of  Africa.     Merchants  being  de- 


sirous of  visiting  the  interior  parts  of 
Africa,  for  the  sake  of  trading  with 
the  natives,  form  themselves  into  com- 


62 


BELIGIOUS    ALLEGOEIES. 


panics  foi*  this  jiurpose.  Ilere  may 
be  seen  Arabs,  Jews,  Franks,  and 
others,  uniting  for  a  common  end,  re- 
gardless of  the  differences  of  country 
and  of  creed.  They  hire  a  certain  num- 
ber of  camels,  with  their  drivers;  they 
lay  in  their  stock  of  goods,  provisions, 
etc.;  they  furnish  themselves  with  a 
compass,  and  with  arms  for  defense. 
When  all  is  prepared,  the  signal  for 
departure  is  given,  and  the  caravan 
moves  onward;  by  degrees  they  leave 
all  traces  of  the  living  world  behind 
them;  soon  they  come  in •  sight  of  the 
desert;  evening  now  casts  its  shadows 
round  them;  they  find  a  stopping 
place;  here  they  rest  for  the  night. 
In  the  morning  they  commence  the 
perilous  route;  in  a  short  time  nothing- 
is  beheld  by  the  travelers  but  one  vast 
ocean  of  sand,  bounded  only  by  the 
horizon  ;  as  they  move  on  the  heat  be- 
comes intense;  the  sky  ap^Dcars  a  dome 
of  molten  fire;  the  earth  glows  like  a 
furnace  beneath  their  feet.  A  moment- 
ary gloom  overspreads  the  faces  of 
the  travelers  as  they  see  scattered  here 
and  there,  upon  the  sand,  skeletons, 
the  remains  of  former  travelers.  They 
shorten  the  distance  by  rehearsing  tales 
of  wit  and  humor.  Sometimes  the  des- 
ert rings  with  the  sound  of  their  mer- 
ry songs;  they  trust  to  the  guides  for 
direction,  and  to  the  guards  for  safety; 
being  well  armed,  they  fear  nothing. 
Sometimes,  while  yet  on  the  border, 
the  lion  of  the  desert  appears  ;  he  sees 
them  united  and  watchful ;  he  dare  not 
attack  them;  he  lashes  his  sides  Avith  his 
furious  tail,  and  with  a  dreadful  roar 
he  bounds  out  of  sight.  Sometimes 
the  Arab  robbers,  who  think  they  have 
an  hereditary  right  to  plunder  travel- 
ers, attack  the  caravan ;  they  meet 
with  a  stout  resistance,  and,  finding 
themselves  worsted,  they  quickly  dis- 
appear amid  clouds  of  dust  and  sand. 

Other  enemies,  however,  frequently 
appear,  that  laugh  to  scorn  their  might 
of    union,    and    hold    in    derision    the 


shaking  of  the  glittering  Sf»ear;  the 
pestilential  simoon,  with  the  speed  of 
thought,  comes  rushing  on  toward 
them,  and,  unless  they  fall  instantly 
upon  their  faces  and  hold  their  breath, 
they  are  all  dead  men.  Sometimes 
they  behold  huge  pillars  of  sand  before 
them,  the  sun  gleaming  through  them, 
giving  them  the  appearance  of  jiyramids 
on  fire;  each  one  is  large  enough  to 
bury  the  caravan ;  now  they  move 
toward  them  with  fearful  rapidity; 
now  they  take  another  direction.  The 
wind  shifts,  and,  dashing  against  each 
other,  they  vanish  in  a  storm  of  sand. 
Sometimes  the  caravan  is  refreshed  by 
meeting  with  a  fertile  spot  called  an 
oasis;  here  is  seen  the  grassy  plain,  the 
flowing  fountain ;  here  is  heard  the  voice 
of  singing  birds;  here  the  palm,  the 
vine,  and  the  olive  tree  abound.  New 
spirited,  the  caravan  resumes  its  jour- ' 
ney,  and  in  good  time  reaches  the  place 
of  its  destination. 

The  passage  through  the  desert  may 
be  considered  as  an  allegorical  repre- 
sentation of  the  passage  of  the  Church 
of  Christ  through  the  moral  desert  of 
this  world.  The  Church  is  in  qu6st  of 
eternal  gain.  She  seeks  a  city  which 
is  out  of  sight — "the  New  Jerusalem." 
The  way  thereto  is  through  a  moral  des- 
ert, which  is  destitute  of  every  heavenly 
j^lant.  No  living  stream  flows  through 
the  midst  thereof.  No  food  for  the  soul 
is  there ;  no  provision  for  immortality. 
Above,  around,  beneath,  the  elements 
are,  in  themselves  considered,  unfriend- 
ly to  spiritual  life  and  spiritual  prog- 
ress. Hence,  the  Church  furnishes  her- 
self with  provisions — Christ,  and  the 
Word  of  Christ ;  her  compass,  the  law 
of  Jehovah ;  her  weapons,  the  whole 
armor  of  God;  her  watchmen  and 
guides,  the  ministers  of  Jesus.  • 

The  caravan  was  exposed  to  danger 
and  death  from  the  lion,  the  robber, 
the  moving  sands,  and  the  fell  simoon. 

The  Church,  too,  has  her  dangers  to 
contend  against.     No   sooner   does   she 


EELIGIOUS    ALLEGOEIES 


6:^> 


oomraence  her  march,  than  Abaddon, 
the  destroyer,  comes  out  against  her. 
If  he  sees  her  united,  moving  on  firm- 
ly, and  watchful  withal,  she  is  safe, 
and  he  knows  it.  He  gnashes  his 
teeth  with  rage,  and  looks  about  for 
more  defenseless  prey.  Woe,  woe,  to 
the  straggler  he  may  meet  with  in  his 
wrath — to  him  who  through  indolence 
has  lingered  behind,  or  through  pride 
thinks  he  can  take  care  of  himself — he 
falls  a  victim  to  his  temerity.  His  fate 
becomes  a  monument  of  warning  unto 
others.  Next  she  is  assailed  by  the  dis- 
ciples of  ancient  heresies.  These  come 
forth  against  her  with  their  rights  of 
prescription  and  of  proscription.  They 
advance  "damnable  doctrines,"  and  seek 
to  plunder  her  of  her  heaven-born  treas- 
ures. But  the  Church  is  armed,  thor- 
"pughly  armed.  The  efficient  panoply, 
"the  whole  armor  of  (xod,"  is  round 
about  her.  The  sword  of  the  Lord  and 
of  Grideon  prevails,  and  the  spoilers,  van- 
quished, retire  amid  the  dust  of  their 
own  confusion.  But  other  foes  some- 
times appear,  more  dangerous  than 
Satan  undisguised.  Splendid  images  of 
idolatry  present  themselves,  glittering 
with  the  gilded  pageantry  of  pomj^ous 
ceremonies,  impositions  of  unrighteous 
prerogative.  Their  tops  reach  the  very 
heavens.  They  move  to  and  fro,  threat- 
ening to  overwhelm  the  Church  beneath 
their  crushing  weight.  She  looks  on 
awhile  in  astonishment  at  such  heaven- 
daring  impiety.  She  stands  firm;  she 
is  girt  about  with  truth.  With  a  loud 
voice  she  gives  utterance  to  her  faith, 
"Jehovah,  he  is  the  God!  Jehovah,  he 
is  the  God!"  The  sandy  fabrics  disap- 
pear like  the  moving  columns  of  the 
desert. 

Sometimes,  as  a  last  resort  of  fiend- 
ish malice,   the  simoon  of  persecution 


is  let  loose  upon  her.  Earth  and  hell 
combine.  The  kings  of  the  earth  set 
themselves,  and  the  rulers  take  counsel 
together,  saying,  "Let  us  break  their 
bands  asunder,  and  cast  away  their 
cords  from  us."  The  watchword  is, 
"Destroy,  destroy,"  and  the  whole 
power  of  the  enemy  is  hurled  against 
the  Lord's  anointed.  Her  ordinary 
weapons  of  defense  are  here  of  no  avail. 
She  has  recourse  to  ^'■all  prayer;''  she 
falls  down  low  in  the  dust.  In  God  is 
all  her  trust;  he  is  her  help  and  her 
shield.  She  hides  herself  in  him  until 
this  "calamity  be  overpast."  In  every 
conflict  she  comes  off  victorious,  as  long 
as  she  continues  united  and  watchful. 

Sometimes  the  Church  is  favored  with 
extraordinary  manifestations  of  divine 
power  and  love  ;  these  are  to  her  as  an 
oasis  in  the  desert.  The  river  that 
makes  glad  the  city  of  God  pours  its 
full  streams  into  the  midst  of  her. 
She  enjoys  a  glorious  revival ;  it  is  a 
foretaste  of  heaven.  She  arises  and  puts 
on  strength.  Multitudes  are  added  unto 
her.  Clothed  with  salvation,  she  again 
moves  onward  in  all  the  power  of  truth, 
and  in  the  majesty  of  holiness,  clear  a^ 
the  sun,  fair  as  the  moon,  and  glorious 
as  an  army  with  banners.  Above  her 
waves  triumphant  the  banner  of  Ee- 
dem])tion.  Taking  up  the  song  of 
j)roi)hesy  as  she  advances,  she  sings — 

In  the  wilderness  shall  burst  forth  waters. 
And  torrents  in  the  desert; 
And  the  glowing  sand  shall  become  a  pool; 
The  desert  and  the  waste  shall  be  glad. 
And  the  wilderness" shall  rejoice  and  flourish; 
Like  the  rose  shall  it  beautifully  flourish. 

Thus  she  goes  forward  from  strength 
to  strength,  scattering  in  her  path  a 
new  creation,  until  Mercy's  triumphs 
are  complete,  and  God  is  all  in  all. 


64 


EELIGIOUS    ALLEGOEIES, 


2  TIMOTHY, 

Chap,  iii: 
verse  2. 


JAMES, 
Chap,  v: 
verse  3. 


MATTHEW, 

Chap,  xix: 

verse  24. 


1  JOHK, 
Chap,  iii: 
verse  17. 


JOB, 

Chap.  XX : 

verses  19,  20. 


PEO  VERBS, 

Chap,  xxii: 

verse  16. 


HABAKKUK, 

Chap,  ii: 
verse  9. 


1  COEINTH'NS, 
Chap,  vi: 
verse  10. 


SELFISli:^rESS. 

He  heapeth  up  riches  and  knoweth  not  loho  shall  gather  them.     Ps. 
XXXIX :  6. The  covetous,  lohom  the  Lord  ahhorreth.     Ps.  x:  3. 


Look  at  the  selfish  man!     See  how  he  locks 
Tight  ia  his  ai-ms  his  mortgages  and  stocks. > 
While  deeds  and  titles  in  his  hands  he  grasps, 
And  gold  and  silver  close  around  him  clasps. 
But  not  content  with  this,  behind  he  drags 
A  cart  well  laden  with  the  pond'rous  bags; 
The  orphans''  wailings  and  the  widoio's  woe, 
From  mercy's  fountain  came  no  tears  to  flow; 
He  pours  no  cordial  in  the  wounds  of  pain. 


Unlocks  no  prison,  and  unclasps  no  chain; 
His  heart  is  like  the  rock  where  sun  nor  dew 
Can  rear  one  plant  or  flower  of  heavenly  hue. 
No  thought  of  mercy  there  may  have  its  birth, 
For  helpless  misery  or  suffering  worth; 
The  end  of  all  his  life  is  paltry  pelf, 
And  all  his  thoughts  are  centered  on — himself; 
The  wretch  of  both  worlds ;  for  so  mean  a  sum, 
"  Fir^t  starved  in  this,   then  damned  in  that  to  come.' 


Here  is  a  poor  fool  "crouching  be- 
neath" more  than  "two  burdens." 
Look  at  him!  See  how  he  pants,  and 
heaves,  and  groans  beneath  his  load. 
With  his  right  hand  he  grasps  a  large 
bag  of  gold  and  silver,  together  with 


bonds,  titles,  deeds,  and  mortgages;  in 
his  left  he  clutches  fast  stocks  and 
pledges,  while  suspended  to  his  left 
shoulder  dangles  interest  upon  interest. 
Around  his  waist  is  buckled  a  leathern 
girdle,  to  which  a  wagon  is  attached  by 


RELIGIOUS    ALLEGOEIES, 


65 


means  of  traces.  This  is  loaded  with 
bags  and  bales  of  rich  annuities.  He 
appears  to  have  made  "a  clean  sweep" 
wherever  he  has  been ;  desolation  fol- 
lows in  his  train.  On  the  left  hand  of 
this  receiver-general  stands  a  female, 
accompanied  by  two  children.  Look 
at  them.  They  have  come  through  the 
peltings  of  a  winter's  storm,  poorly  clad 
as  they  are,  to  lighten  the  poor  man's 
load.  They  have  nothing  to  carry. 
See!  they  are  beseeching  him  to  allow 
them  to  bear  pai*t  of  his  burden.  It 
would  help  them  somewhat;  it  would 
circulate  the  blood,  and  keep  them 
warm.  It  would  benefit  him,  however, 
a  great  deal  more — perhaps  save  his 
life.  He  looks  angry;  he  growls  at 
them;  he  curses  them  in  the  name  of 
his  God,  and  spurns  them  from  his 
presence.  The  man  can  not  be  in  his 
right  mind  surely.  Refusing  assistance, 
on  he  goes  again,  lamenting  very  much 
the  time  he  has  lost,  for  "time"  with 
him  "is  money."  On  he  goes,  puffing, 
and  sweating,  and  dragging.  At  length, 
still  followed  by  the  woman  and  chil- 
dren, he  comes  to  a  bridge,  thi-own 
across  a  rapidly-rolling  river.  It  looks 
quite  safe ;  as  ho  proceeds,  it  bends  and 
cracks  with  the  weight,  and  just  when 
he  arrives  at  the  middle,  it  gives  way 
and  down  he  goes,  bags  and  all;  he 
sinks  to  the  bottom  like  a  stone.  The 
dark  wave  rolls  over  him  ;  he  dieth  as 
a  fool  dieth;  his  memory  has  perished. 
The  above  engraving  represents  Self- 
ishness refusing  the  claims  of  distressed 
humanity.  Perhaps  all  the  manifesta- 
tions of  sin  in  man  may  be  traced  to 
selfishness  as  their  source.  The  war- 
rior in  his  pursuit  of  glory,  the  poli- 
tician in  hunting  for  power,  the  covet- 
ous in  scheming  for  wealth,  the  scholar 
in  his  aspirations  for  fame,  all  act  from 
the  principle  of  selfishness.  Here  the 
selfish  principle  manifests  itself  in  the 
acquisition  of  money,  in  keeping  it,  and, 
of  course,  fi-xing  the  heart  upon  it  as  an 
object  worthy  to  bo  adored.     The  Most 


High,  looking  down  from  the  height  of 
his  holiness,  pronounces  the  man  '•fool." 
Fool,  in  so  mistaking  the  true  ends  of 
life,  in  so  mistaking  the  nature  of  things, 
as  to  think  the  soul  could  be  satisfied 
with  dust  and  corruption  ;  in  employing 
the  noble  powers  of  the  mind  about 
things  so  base,  mean,  and  contemptible; 
in  loving  that  which  can  not  return  our 
love.  Eool,  in  substituting  the  body 
for  the  soul,  time  for  eternity,  the  world 
for  God.  Fool,  to  be  "  bit  by  rage 
canine  of  dying  rich,  guiWs  blunder,  and 
the  loudest  laugh  of  hell."  Fool,  in  heap- 
ing up  riches,  and  knowing  not  who 
shall  gather  them. 

"  High  built  abundance  lieapon  Leap,  for  what? 
To  breed  new  wants  and  beggar  us  the  more, 
Then  make  a  richer  scramble  for  the  throng. 
Soon  as  this  feeble  pulse  which  leaps  so  long, 
Almost  by  miracle  is  tired  with  play; 
Like  rubbish  I'rom  disploded  engines  thrown, 
Our  magazines  of  lioarded  tritles  fly; 
Fly  diverse,  fly  to  foreigners,  to  foes; 
New  masters  court,  and  call  the  former  fools — 
How  justly,  for  dependence  on  their  stay. 
Wide  scatter  first  our  playthings,  then  our 
dust." 

This  is  bad  enough,  but,  what  is 
worse,  the  man  of  selfishness  is  a  man 
of  guilt — often  of  deep,  double-dyed, 
damnable  guilt.  Even  in  its  most  in- 
nocent form,  selfishness  dethrones  the 
blessed  God  from  his  proper  place 
in  the  human  heart.  Selfishness  is  a 
rank  idolator ;  he  worships  the  creature 
more  than  the  Creator.  "Thou  shalt 
have  no  other  gods  before  me."  Like 
the  horse-leech,  he  is  continually  cry- 
ing, Give,  give.  He  covets  his  neigh- 
bor's possessions;  he  is  determined  to 
obtain  them  if  he  can,  either  by  fair 
means  or  by  foul.  To  this  end  he  often 
bears  false  witness  against  his  neighbor; 
nay,  he  will  destroy  his  reputation, 
sometimes  take  his  life. 

He  is  a  devourer  of  widows'  houses; 
he  forestalls  and  forecloses  whenever 
he  can  gain  by  so  doing.  Selfishness 
is   a  thief — first,  in  withholding  what 


66 


EELIGIOUS    ALLEGOEIES. 


belongs  to  God  and  the  poor  ;  secondly, 
in  actually  seizing  upon  the  property 
of  others.  See  him  go  forth  to  take 
possession  of  his  neighbor's  farm  or 
house  !  In  the  face  of  day  he  goes;  the 
sun  is  looking  at  him,  and  God  is  look- 
ing at  him,  and  the  prophet  of  God 
within  his  breast — conscience — remon- 
strates, as  did  the  prophet  Elijah,  when 
Ahab  had  gone  down  to  the  vineyard 
of  Naboth,  to  take  possession  thereof. 
Bat  Selfishness  is  deaf  to  the  voice  of 
the  prophet,  and  the  helpless  family  is 
turned  out  into  the  streets,  and  another 
inheritance  is  added  to  his  rent-roll. 

How  great  is  the  guilt  of  Selfishness  ; 
by  him  the  commandments  of  God  are, 
all  set  at  naught;  nay,  standing  on  the 
mountain  of  his  ill-gotten  wealth,  he 
takes  the  two  tables  of  the  law  and 
breaks  them  to  pieces,  trampling  the 
remnants  beneath  his  feet.  His  heart 
is  ossified,  callous,  hard  as  the  nether 
mill-stone.  The  ministers  of  religion 
plead  for  help;  he  regards  it  not.  The 
daughters  of  benevolence  plead  for  ob- 
jects of  charity ;  all  in  vain.  The  weep- 
ing widow  and  the  wailing  orphan  stand 
before  him,  begging  only  what  will 
support  life  a  day;  he  spurns  them 
from  his  presence.  He  has  more  than 
he  needs  or  ever  will  need,  yet,  dog-in- 
the-manger  like,  he  snarls  and  keeps  it 
all. 

In  the  map  of  Palestine  may  be  seen 
the  Dead  Sea.  Several  rivers  pour  their 
streams  into  the  midst  thereof,  and 
among  them  the  Jordan.  Here  they  are 
all  swallowed  up  ;  the  Dead  Sea  gives 
nothing  back  but  bitterness  and  dearth. 
It  was  formerly  said  that  birds,  in  their 
passage  over  it,  dropped  down  dead. 
Selfishness  is  a  dead  sea,  receiving  all, 
giving  nothing,  save  misery,  and  want, 
and  death. 

In  the  engraving,  the  house  in  the 
background  looks  ruined  and  desolate; 


Selfishness  has  been  there.  It  is  related 
of  the  locusts  that  "  the  noise  they  make, 
in  browsing  the  plants  and  trees,  may 
be  heard  at  a  distance,  like  an  army 
plundering  in  secret.  Wherever  they 
march  the  verdure  disappears  from  the 
country,  like  a  curtain  drawn  aside. 
The  trees  and  plants,  despoiled  of  their 
leaves,  make  the  hideous  appearance 
of  winter  instantly  succeed  the  bright 
scenes  of  spring;  fire  seems  to  follow 
their  tracks."  Selfishness  may  look 
behind  him,  if  he  will,  and  see  in  his 
rear  the  same  marks  of  desolation. 

Selfishness  is  a  great  advocate  for  the 
protection  of  his  own  interests.  He  has 
become  rich,  yet  he  is  not  rich  Godward; 
he  has  mortgages,  but  he  himself,  alas ! 
is  mortgaged  to  the  devil,  and,  when 
the  time  expires,  he  will  foreclose  and 
take  possession.  He  has  pledges  enough 
on  earth,  but  no  pledge  of  a  future  in- 
heritance in  heaven.  And  where,  where 
is  the  hope  of  the  icretch,  though  he 
hath  gained,  when  God  taketh  away 
his  soul ! 


How  shocking  must  thy   summons   be,   O 

Death ! 
To  him  that  is  at  ease  in  his  possessions, 
Who,  counting  on  long  years  of  pleasures  here, 
Is  quite  unfurnished  for  that  world  to  cornel' 
In  that  dread  moment  how  the  frantic  soul 
Raves  round  the  walls  of  her  clay  tenerpent; 
Runs  to  each  avenue,  and  shrieks  for  help, 
Butshrieks  in  vain  !  How  wish  fully  she  looks 
On  all  she's  leaving,  now  no  longer  hers! 
A  little  longer,  yet  a  little  longer, 
O,  might  she  stay,  to  wash  away  her  stains, 
And  fit  her  for  her  passage  1  Mournful  sight* 
Her  very  eyes  weep  blood;  and  c  ery  groan 
She  heaves  is  big  with  horror.     But  the  foe, 
Like  a  staunch  murderer,  steady  to  his  pur- 
pose. 
Pursues  her  close,  through  every  lane  of  life, 
Nor  misses  once  the  track,  but  presses  on  ; 
Till  forced  at  last  to  the  tremendous  verge, 
At  once  she  sinks  to  everlasting  ruia." 


EELIGIOUS    ALLEGORIES, 


PSALM 
xxxvi : 

verse  7. 


GALATIANS, 

Chap,  ii: 
verse  20. 


MATTHEW, 

Chap,  xxxiii: 
verse  20. 


^' 


PSALM 

xlvi: 
verse  7. 


1  CORmTH'NS, 

Chap,  iii: 
verse  16. 


EOMANS, 

Chap,  xii : 

verse  5. 


EPHESIANS, 

Chap,  iii: 
verse  17. 


COLOSSIANS, 

Chap,  iii: 

verse  4. 


Fear  not,  Jor  I  am  icith  thee, 
evil,  for  thou  art  with  me.     Ps 

"When  the  great  Caesar,  bent  on  high  emprise 

Beheld  the  winds  and  waves  against  him  rise, 

The  sea  and  skies  in  wild  commotion  roll, 

To  damp  the  ardor  of  his  mighty  soul ; 

But  winds  and  waves  in  vain  'gainst  him  engage, 

And  waste  upon  themselves  their  empty  rage; 

He  nothing  fears,  he  deems  himself  a  God. 


THE  IMPERIAL   PASSE:N'GEII. 

24. 1  will  fear  no 


Gen.  XXVI 
XXIII :  4. 


And  furious  tempests  but  await  his  nod. 
Not  so  the  mariners — in  sore  dismay 
They  dare  not  venture  from  the  sheltered  bay, 
To  whom  the  chief  their  craven  souls  to  cheer, 
"Who  tarries  Caesar,  need  no  danger  fear.'' 
Awed  into  courage,  soon  they  're  on  the  wave. 
And  all  the  fury  of  the  ocean  brave. 


The  above  engraving  represents  Julius 
Caasar  in  a  violent  storm.  He  is  encour- 
aging the  boatmen  to  pull  away.  Caesar 
and  Pompey,  at  this  time,  were  about 
to  dispute  the  empire  of  the  "world. 
The  legions  of  Pompej^  were  at  Mace- 
donia; those  of  Cffisar  lay  at  Brundus- 
ium,  on  the  other  side  of  the  river 
12 


Apsus.  Cffisar,  judging  his  presence  to 
be  absolutely  necessary  for  the  safety 
of  his  army,  determined  to  cross  the 
river,  notwithstanding  it  was  guarded 
by  the  ships  of  Pompey.  A  furious, 
tempest  raged  also  at  the  same  time. 
Depending  upon  his  good  fortune,  he 
disguised  himself,  and  secured  a  small 


6S 


EELIGIOUS    ALLEGOEIES 


fishing-boat.  His  mind  occupied  with 
the  importance  of  his  mission,  he  thinks 
not  of  danger.  He  has  had  so  many 
hairbreadth  escapes  on  flood  and  field, 
that  he  deems  himself  under  the  im- 
mediate protection  of  the  gods  ;  nay,  that 
he  himself  possesses  the  power  of  con- 
trolling fortune.  The  boatmen  think, 
however,  very  differently.  Though  ac- 
customed to  danger,  they  will  not  put 
to  sea  in  the  present  gale.  Csesar,  think- 
ing all  would  be  lost,  assumes  a  com- 
manding attitude,  throws  off  his  dis- 
guise, and,  addressing  the  pilot,  ex- 
claims. Quid  times?  Ccesarem  vehis. 
"What  do  you  fear?  you  carry  Caesar." 
The  effect  is  electrical.  Struck  by  his 
courageous  bearing,  the  sailors,  ashamed 
of  their  fears,  immediately  put  to  sea 
with  the  intrepid  chieftain.  They  ex- 
ert themselves  to  the  utmost,  brave 
fearlessly  the  peltings  of  the  storm,  and 
land  their  noble  passenger  safely  on  the 
other  side. 

The  above  instance  of  profane  history 
may  serve  to  illustrate  the  presence  of 
God  with  his  people,  and  the  confidence 
they  should  have  in  him.  The  pres- 
ence and  consequent  power  of  God  ex- 
ists, of  course,  every-where.  We  can 
not  tell  where  God  is  not.  We  see 
him  in  the  embattled  host  that  nightly 
shines  in  the  blue  vault  of  heaven;  in 
the  queen  of  night,  as  sailing  through 
the  sky,  she  gives  to  the  shadowed 
earth  a  look  of  kindred  affection.  When 
rosy  morn  lifts  up  the  curtain  of  dark- 
ness and  gives  to  our  view  the  glorious 
orb  of  day  coming  forth  from  his  cham- 
bers, rejoicing  as  a  strong  man  to  run 
a  race;  in  the  vast  mountain,  towering 
to  meet  the  skies;  the  immense  ocean, 
rising  in  the  greatness  of  its  strength; 
the  embowered  forest,  bending  to  the 
breeze;  the  deep  blush  of  the  verdant 
mead,  the  smiles  of  the  luscious  corn, 
and  in  the  laughing  flowers,  we  see  the 
power  and  presence  of  the  Omnipotent. 
The  thunder  proclaims  him  in  the  heav- 
ens, the  woodland  minstrels  among  the 


trees;  the  mountain  torrent  and  the 
rippling  brook  bespeak  his  power;  in- 
sects sporting  in  the  sunbeams,  and  le- 
viathan in  the  depths  of  the  sea,  alike 
show  forth  his  praise.  Magnitude  can 
not  overpower  him,  minuteness  escape 
him,  or  intricacy  bewilder  him.  He 
guides  and  preserves  all  by  his  presence 
and  power. 

"  The  rolling  year 
Ts  full  of  Thee.     Forth  in  the  pleasing  spring 
Thy  beauty  waiks,  thy  tenderness  and  love; 
Then  comes  thy  glory  in  the  summer  months, 
With  light  and  heat  refulgent.     Then  thy  sun 
Shoots  full  perfection  through  theswelling  year. 
Thy  bounty  shines  in  autumn  unconfined. 
And  spreads  a  common  feast  for  all  that  lives. 
In  winter,  awful  Thou  !  with  clouds  and  storms 
Around   thee    thrown,    tempest    o'er    tempest 

rolled, 
Majestic  darkness  I  on  the  whirlwind's  wing, 
Riding  sublime.     Thou  bid'et  the  world  adore, 
And  humblest  nature  with  thy  northern  blast." 

The  presence  of  God  with  his  people 
is,  however,  manifested  in  a  different 
manner.  Nature  is  managed  by  subor- 
dinate agents,  the  Church  by  his  im- 
mediate presence.  Natural  objects  wax 
old  and  perish,  as  doth  a  garment;  yea, 
the  elements  will  melt  with'  fervent 
heat;  the  earth  also,  and  the  works 
that  are  therein,  shall  be  burned  up; 
but  of  the  Church  it  is  declared  that 
the  gates  of  hell  shall  not  prevail  against 
it;  and  of  Christ's  kingdom,  which  is 
the  Church,  it  is  said.  Thy  kingdom  is 
an  everlasting  kingdom,  and  thy  do- 
minion without  end.  Hence,  to  per- 
petuate the  Church,  the  presence  of 
God  has  been  manifested  in  a  peculiar 
manner.  In  the  march  of  the  Church, 
through  the  ages  of  time  on  toward 
eternity,  how  plainly  has  ho  shown  his 
powerful  presence. 

Is  the  world,  through  sin,  covered 
with  a  flood  of  waters,  as  with  a  gar- 
ment? God  himself  superintends  the 
building  of  an  ark,  for  the  salvation  of 
his  infant  Church.  Does  famine  threaten 
her  with  destruction?  he  opens  to  her 


EELIGIOUS    ALLEGORIES. 


69 


wants  the  granaries  of  Egypt.  Does  the 
Bea  oppose  her  when  she  would  go  and 
"sacrifice  to  the  Lord  her  God?"  he  di- 
vides for  her  a  passage  through  the  midst 
thereof,  and  she  goes  through  dry  shod.  Does 
she  suffer  Imnger  in  the  desert?  he  unlocks 
the  storehouse  of  heaven  an  1  feeds  her  with 
angels'  food.  Is  she  thirsty  ?  the  very  rocks 
are  made  to  yield  streams  of  living  water.  By 
his  presence  her  foes  fall  before  her;  Jordan's 
waves  roll  backward,  and  Canaan  spreads  for 
her  repast  its  stores  of  milk  and  hone}'. 
''Happy  art  thou,  0  Israel !  Who  is  like  unto 
thee,  0  people  saved  by  the  Lord,  who  is  the 
sword  of  thy  excellency  and  the  shield  of  thy 
help?" 

Nor  has  the  Church  been  less  favored  with 
the  divine  presence,  since  Jesus  paid  in  full 
the  price  of  her  redemption,  remodeled  his 
temple,  and  adorned  the  sanctuary  with  the 
beauty  of  holiness.  When  we  see  the  Savior 
in  the  storm,  on  the  sea  of  Tiberias,  chiding 
the  fears  of  his  disciples,  and  stilling  the  winds 
and  the  waves,  we  see  a  type,  and  a  promise 
of  his  future  presence  with  his  people.  Im- 
manuel,  "  God  with  us,"  this  is  his  name. 
How  full  of  consolation!  with  us  in  his  own 
proper  person.  The  government  is  still  upon 
his  shoulders.  "  He  will  not  give  his  glory  to 
another."  He  does  not  rule  by  proxy.  He 
needs  no  "  vicar "  on  the  earth.  His  real 
presence  is  with  his  people.  He  is  fulfilling 
his  own  gracious  promise,  "  Lo,  I  am  with  you 
alway,  even  to  the  end  of  the  world." 

The  fact  of  being  engaged  in  an  important 
enterprise,  and  a  consciousness  that  great  re- 
sults will  follow  a  eertain  course  of  conduct, 
nerves  up  the  soul  to  action,  and  enables  it  to 
do  and  suffer.  When  the  boatmen  knew  who 
it  was  that  said  unto  them,  "  Fear  not,"  know- 
ing too  that  the  fate  of  nations  depended  upon 
their  conduct,  they  were  inspired  with  energy 
and  courage,  and  determined  to  sink  or  swim 
with  Csesar.  But  behold  a  greater  than  Caesar 
is  here. 

Jesus,  the  Almighty  conqueror,  says  to  liis 
people,  ^'  Fear  not ^  for  I  am  with  you."  In  the 
furious  tempest  that  sometimes  meets  them  in 
the  path  of  duty,  when  their  hearts  quail,  and 
all  appears  ta    be  lost,  his  glorious  presence 


shines  amid  the  darkness.  ^^  Fear  not,"  he 
exclaims,  "  you  carry  Jesus."  The  Church, 
emboldened  at  the  sight,  dismiss  their  fears, 
receive  a  new  inspiration,  and,  in  the  strength 
of  a  living  faith,  respond,  "  Therefore  will  we 
not  fear,  though  the  earth  be  removed  out  of 
its  place,  and  the  mountains  be  cast  into  the 
depths  of  the  sea  for  the  Lord  of  hosts  is  with 
us,  the  God  of  Jacob  is  our  refuge." 

^^  Fear  not,  you  carry  Jesus."  Thou  despond- 
ing one,  fear  not.  Does  not  Christ  dwell  in 
thy  heart  by  faith?  Is  not  "Christ  in  you" 
the  life  of  faith,  the  life  of  love,  "  the  hope 
of  glory  ?"  Is  he  not  working  in  you  both  to 
will  and  to  do?  Then  be  strong  in  the  Lord 
and  in  the  power  of  his  might.  Fear  not,  he 
is  thy  shield,  and  thy  exceeding  great  reward. 

Of  Cyrus  it  is  said  that  he  knew  his  soldiers, 
every  one  by  name;  but  by  the  Captain  of 
your  salvation  the  very  hairs  of  your  head  are 
all  numbered.  Unbelief  dims  the  eye  so  that 
it  can  not  see  Jesus.  Faith  opens  it,  and  the 
glorious  presence  of  the  Savior  is  revealed. 
Where  the  king  is,  there  also  is  the  court; 
and  Avhere  the  Savior  is,  there  also  is  his  court. 
His  attendants  are  all  there.  Power,  majesty, 
riches,  and  glory  encircle  his  throne.  Stormy 
winds,  lightning  and  thunder,  are  ministers 
of  his  that  do  his  pleasure. 

God  is  with  his  people;  he  is  their  covenant 
God.  Hence  all  his  attributes  are  employed 
for  their  good.  He  cares  for  them.  As  a 
father  pitieth  his  children,  so  he  pities  them 
that  fear  him.  He  has  purchased  them  by 
"his  own  blood."  They  are  his  "peculiar 
treasure,"  "the  lot  of  his  inheritance."  There- 
fore no  weapon  that  is  formed  against  them 
can  prosper.  To  banish  distrust  forever  from 
their  hearts,  he  pledges  himself  never  to  leave 
them,  never  to  forsake  them. 

When  thou  passest  through  fhe  waters  I  will  be 
with  thee. 

And  through  the  rivers  they  shall  not  overflew 
thee; 

When  thou  walkest  through  fhe  fire  thou  shalt 
not  be  burned. 

Neither  shall  the  flame  kindle  upon  thee. 

For  I  am  the  Lord  thy  God,  the  Holy  One  of  Is- 
rael, 

TuY  Savior. 


70 


EELIGIOUS    ALLEGOEIES 


PSALM 

xviii : 
verse  6. 


JOB, 
Chap,  xiii; 
verse  15. 


PSALM 

Ixxi : 
verse  1. 


2  KINGS, 

Chap,  vii : 

verse  4. 


MARK, 

Chap,  v: 

verses  27,  28. 


MARK, 

Chap,  ix: 
verse  24. 


HEBREWS, 

Chap,  xi : 
verse  8. 


PSALM 
xxxvii : 
verse  5. 


I  vnll  trust  in  thee.     Ps.  lvi 
unto  you.     Matt,  ix:  29. 

BEnoLO  the  flames  in  all  their  fury  roll, 
Raging  and  spreading,  spurning  all  control; 
Upward  they  shoot  in  many  a  gleaming  spire, 
And  then  rush  downward  in  a  flood  of  fire. 
With  fiercer  heat  the  burning  columns  glow, 
And  soon  the  building  totters  to  and  fro. 
But  whence  that  scream  that  rings  upon  our  ears? 
In  the  high  casement  see,  a  child  appears! 


VENTURING  BY  FAITH. 

Ps.  LVI :  3. According  to  your  Faith  be  it 


With  outstretched  arms,  imploring  for  relief — 
The  crackling  timbers  only  mock  his  grief. 
"  0,  Father,  savel"  in  piteous  tones  he  cries; 
At  length  his  father  hears  him  and  replies, 
"  Fly  to  my  arms,  my  son,  without  delay — 
Fly  ere  the  flames  devour  their  helpless  prey." 
Death  hastes  behind,  Hope  beckons  from  before; 
He  ventures  freely,  and  his  danger  s  o'er. 


"  The  soul  of  an  awakened  sinner," 
says  Dr.  Coke,  "  before  he  ventures  on 
Christ  for  salvation,  may  be  compared 
to  a  person  who  is  in  some  of  the  up- 
per stories  of  his  house  when  he  learns 


that  it  has  taken  fire,  and  that  all  its 
nether  parts  are  so  far  involved  in  flame 
as  to  cut  off  his  retreat."  The  engrav- 
ing shows  a  young  person,  who  has 
been  roused  from  his   midnight  slum- 


EELIGIOUS    ALLEGOEIES, 


71 


bers  by  the  raging  flames  which  burst 
into  the  place  where  he  was  reposing, 
or  perhaps  he  was  awakened  by  the 
voice  of  some  friend,  who  raised  a  warn- 
ing cry  from  without.  The  child,  thor- 
oughly awakened,  sees  that  if  he  stays 
where  he  is,  he  will  perish  in  the  flames ; 
he  hears  the  voice  of  his  father;  he 
flies  to  the  window;  he  sees  the  out- 
stretched arms ;  he  is  invited  to  leap  or 
cast  himself  from  the  burning  house; 
the  attempt  seems  perilous  indeed,  but, 
having  faith  in  the  word  of  his  father, 
he  takes  the  perilous  leap ;  he  ventures 
all;  he  falls  into  the  hands  of  his  father, 
unharmed  ;  he  is  saved  from  death. 

This  is  a  good  illustration  of  the  act 
of  justifying  faith.  The  child  in  the 
burning  house,  perhaps,  made  several 
efforts  to  escape  from  the  approaching 
ruin;  he  attempts  to  gain  the  door,  but 
finding  the  flames  increase  upon  him, 
he  is  obliged  to  give  up  his  hope  of  es- 
caping this  way,  and  to  ascend  the  stairs 
before  the  pursuing  fire.  His  friends 
without,  who  know  his  condition  and 
danger  (particularly  his  father),  entreat 
liim  to  cast  himself  from  the  upper 
window,  as  the  only  means  by  which 
liis  life  can  be  preserved. 

The  child  hears  the  earnest  entreat- 
ies of  his  friends,  hesitates,  attempts, 
retires,  approaches  the  window,  calcu- 
lates upon  the  fearful  height,  and  dreads 
to  make  the  eff'oi't.  His  understanding 
is  convinced  that  the  fire  will  soon  over- 
take and  destroy  him,  yet,  while  the 
danger  appears  somewhat  remote,  he 
strangely  lingers,  possibly  thinking 
there  may  be  some  other  way  to  escape 
besides  casting  himself  from  the  win- 
dow. 

His  friends  again  encourage  him  to 
venture  ffom  the  window,  assuring  him 
that  the}'-  have  provided  for  his  safety 
by  spreading  on  the  ground  the  softest 
materials,  to  break  the  violence  of  his 
fall.  Full  of  hesitation,  he  asks  for 
sensible  evidence.  They  desire  him  to 
look;  he  makes  an  eff'ort,  but  the  dark- 


ness of  the  night,  and  the  injury  his 
sight  has  sustained,  only  permit  him  to 
view  the  object  of  his  wishes  obscurely 
and  indistinctly.  Belief  and  doubt  con- 
tend for  the  empire  of  his  mind,  and  by 
keejiing  it  in  an  equipoise,  prevent  it 
from  making  any  decisive  choice. 

Thus  far  the  situation  of  the  child 
resembles  that  of  the  soul  who  feels 
his  need  of  salvation.  The  understand- 
ings of  both  are  enlightened,  the  judg- 
ments of  both  are  convinced  by  the 
force  of  evidence ;  they  appear  to  as- 
sent to  the  truths  which  are  proposed 
for  their  belief,  and  still  neither  of 
them  has  escaped  to  the  place  of  safety, 
or  city  of  refuge,  which  lies  before  him. 
Both,  however,  have  found  the  way  to 
escape  the  impending  ruin  ;  and  to  him 
who  thus  sj^iritually  seeks  after  Christ, 
it  may  be  said.  Thou  art  not  far  from 
the  kingdom  of  God.  But  still  one 
thing  is  lacking;  that  is,  to  venture  on 
the  Savior  for  salvation. 

Thus  far,  in  the  allegory,  the  child 
has  made  no  efi'ectual  eff'ort  to  escape 
from  within  the  burning  walls.  While 
lingering  in  his  room  in  a  state  of  in- 
decision, agonizing  for  deliverance, with- 
out using  the  means  of  obtaining  it, 
feeling  a  measure  of  confidence  in  his 
friends  below,  but  not  enough  to  ven- 
ture, the  flames  burst  into  his  apart- 
ment aiid  scorch  him  in  his  last  retreat. 
Alarmed  at  the  immediate  prospect  of 
death,  he  concludes,  If  I  remain  here  I 
shall  surely  die,  and  if  I  cast  myself 
down  from  the  building  I  shall  but  die. 

Fully  impressed  with  this  truth,  he 
once  more  repairs  to  the  window.  He 
pays  more  attention  to  the  call  of  his 
friends,  particularly  to  that  of  his 
father  ;  the  difficulty  now  appears  some- 
what less,  and  the  prospect  of  safety 
greater,  than  what  he  before  imagined. 
Encouraged  by  these  favorable  appear- 
ances, as  well  as  driven  by  terror,  he 
commits  his  soul  to  God^— he  casts  him- 
self into  the  arms  of  his  father  below. 
In   a  moment,  in  the  twinkling  of  an 


72 


EiLLIGIOXJS    ALLEGOEIES. 


eye,  he  falls !  He  is  caught  and  embraced  by 
his  father;  he  finds  every  thing  prepared  for 
his  reception,  as  he  had  been  promised,  and 
he  now  feels  himself  in  a  state  of  safety.  "With 
tears  of  grateful  joy,  and  a  heart  overflowing 
with  thankfulness  for  his  deliverance,  he  gives 
glory  to  God,  and  finds  his  bosom  filled  with 
peace. 

This  is  the  case  of  every  soul  who,  by  faith, 
ventures  his  all  on  Christ.  But  who  can  find 
words  to  e.xpress  all  that  is  conveyed  by  this 
simile?  Every  one  who  has  cast  himself  into 
the  arms  of  his  heavenly  Father,  through  the 
atoning  sacrifice,  can  feel  it,  but  adequate  ex- 
pressions are  not  to  be  found.  Human  lan- 
guage is  too  poor  to  unfold,  in  all  their  branches, 
the  things  of  God,  and  we  are  often  under  the 
necessity  of  resorting  to  such  expedients  m 
order  to  find  a  medium  to  communicate  our 
thoughts. 

We  see  by  the  allegory  that  no  one  is  in  a 
state  of  safety  till  they  have  actually  ventured 
on  Christ  for  salvation.  The  soul  may  be 
convinced  that  there  is  no  other  way  of  sal- 
vation, but  by  venturing  on  Christ,  but  unless 
it  acts  and  puts  forth  an  effort  there  is  no  sal- 
vation. The  youth  in  the  burning  house  may 
be  convinced  he  must  leave  it  if  he  would  save 
his  life,  but  he  may,  perhaps,  think  there  is  no 
immediate  danger  if  he  stays  in  the  house  a 
little  longer;  it  will  take  some  time,  he  thinks, 
for  the  fire  to  consume  the  foundation  on 
which  the  floor  of  his  apartment  rests.  The 
very  reverse  of  this  may  be  true.  The  fire 
has  almost  reached  him,  and  he  knows  it  not; 
all  that  supports  the  platform  on  which  he 
fitands  is  well-nigh  consumed,  and  he  may  be 
precipitated  in  a  moment  into  the  burning 
flames  below.  So  the  soul  may  be  rationally 
convinced  that  if  it  remains  in  its  present  state 
it  must  be  forever  lost;  yet,  thinking  that  there 
is  time  enough  yet  to  attend  to  the  subject  of 
the  soul's  salvation  in  earnest,  and  wishing  to 
remain  in  its  present  state  a  little  longer,  "  a 
little  more  sleep,  and  a  little  more  slumber, 
and  folding  of  the  arms  to  sleep,  '  sudden  de- 
etruction  may  come  in  a  moment;  the  cords 
of  life  may  be  snapped  asunder,  without  a 
moment's  warning,  and  sink  into  the  flaming 
billows  to  rise  no  mor*. 

We  will  suppose  that  the  youth  in  the  burn- 


ing house,  instead  ot  trying  to  get  out  of  it  as 
soon  as  possible,  should  stop  to  ascertain  bj' 
what  means  tlie  house  took  fire — who  set  it  on 
fire,  this  man  or  the  other,  or  whether  it  took 
fire  accidentally  or  not — would  not  every  spec- 
tator call  him  a  fool  for  troubling  himself  about 
such  questions  while  his  life  was  in  such  dai  , 
ger?  Would  not  the  cry  be,  Escape  for  thy 
life;  tarry  not;  loolc  not  behind  thee;  leave 
the  burning  house  instantly!  Equally  foolish 
would  that  soul  be  who  is  convinced  of  hia 
guilt  and  danger,  instead  of  flying  to  Christ  foi- 
salvation,  should  spend  its  time  in  trying  to 
find  out  the  reason  why  sin  was  suffered  to  lay 
waste  the  works  of  God;  could  it  not  have 
been  prevented,  and  many  other  subjects  of 
the  like  kind,  equally  unfathomable  by  the  hu- 
man mind. 

It  must  be  observed  that  the  faith  exercised 
by  the  youth  in  the  burning  house,  caused 
him  to  act,  and  venture  his  life  on  the  issue. 
Perhaps  he  might  reason,  that  his  being  at 
such  a  distance  from  his  father  and  his  friends, 
who  stood  on  the  ground  below,  it  would  t>e 
impossible  for  them  to  save  him  from  being 
dashed  to  pieces  should  he  cast  himself  down ; 
there  may  be  a  strong  conflict  between  belief 
and  unbelief,  but  genuine  faith  will  conquer. 
The  soul  that  is  truly  and  savingly  in  earnest 
about  its  salvation,  not  only  believes,  in  a 
general  manner,  that  the  Bible  is  the  voice  of 
God  to  man,  but  his  belief  must  induce  him 
to  hearken  to  that  voice,  and  consider  its 
threatenings  as  denounced  against  his  dis- 
obedience; he  must,  in  order  to  obtain  salva- 
tion, fly  to  Christ,  cast  himself  upon  his  mercy, 
and  claim  the  promises  which  are  made  to  the 
soul  that  puts  its  trust  in  his  mercy  and  power. 

The  youth  in  the  burning  house  discovers 
that  there  are  no  back  stairs  by  which  he  can 
reach  a  place  of  safety,  for  they  are  already 
entirely  destroyed  by  the  fire,  or  else  nothing 
but  a  "burning  mass,  so  that  escape  by  them  is- 
utterly  impossible.  In  like  manner,  the  truly 
awakened  soul  will  see  that  there  is  no  other 
way  of  escape  but  to  leave  the  state  of  sin 
and  death,  as  there  can  be  no  salvation  while 
remaining  in  it.  But  if  tne  soul  will  go  for- 
ward and  cast  itself  into  the  everlasting  arms 
of  love  and  compassion,  he  who  can  not  lie 
promises  salvation.  "j.  w.  b. 


EELIGIOUS    ALLEGORIES. 


PEOYEKBS, 

Chap,  iv: 
verse  18. 


i. 


PSALM 

xvi: 
verse  11. 


PROVERBS, 

Chap,  ii: 

verses  8,  9. 


PSALM 

xvii : 
verse  5. 


PSALM 

cxlvi : 

verse  9. 


PROVERBS, 
Chap,  iv: 
verse  19. 


PSALM 

Ixxiii : 
vex'se  18. 


1  SAMUEL, 
Chap,  ii: 
verse  9. 


THE   PATH  OF   LIFE  ANB  WAY  OP   DEATH. 

Broad  is  the  way  that  leadeth  to  destruction,  and  many  there  he  that 

go  in  thereat Narrow  is  the  ivay  which  leadeth  unto  life, 

and  few  there  be  that  find  it.     Matt,  vii :  13,  14 


The  Path  of  Life,  and  Death's  frequented  way, 
Who  can  describe?   what  pencil  can  portray? 
The  Way  of  Death  is  broad,  -with  downward  slide. 
Eiisy  and  pleasant  to  man's  lust  and  pride; 
'Tis  thronged  with  multitudes  who  glide  along 
With  gold,  and   drink,  and  dance,  and  wanton 

song: 
Not  these  alone,  but  some  of  decent  mien, 
"Harmless"  and  ''useless"  on  the  way  are  seen; 
In  ruin's  gulf  it  ends.     See!  rising  there, 


Thick  clouds  of  blackness,  and  of  dark  despair. 
The  Path  of  life  lifts  up  its  narrow  breadth, 
High  o'ei'  'he  realms  of  darkness  and  of  death; 
Sky-rising,  still,  laborious  and  straight. 
Leading  directly  up  to  heaven's  gale; 
Tis  wondrous  strange,  and  yet,  alas!   'tis  true. 
The  Path  of  Life  is  traveled  but  by  few. 
Though  ending  where  the  shades  of  night  ne'er 

fall. 
But  one  eternal  Light  encircles  all. 


Here  is  depicted  the  path  of  life  and 
the  "way  of  death.  The  way  of  death 
is  exceeding  broad,  and  on  an  inclined 
plane.     It  has  a  downward  tendency ; 


it  is  occupied  by  a  vast  multitude. 
Some  are  seen  throwing  themselves  off 
the  way  headlong;  others  are  bearing 
aloft  the  terrible  banners  of  war.     They 


74 


EELIGIOUS    ALLEGOEIES. 


are  elated  with  victory.  Here  the  man 
of  pleasure  revels  in  delight.  The 
drunkard  is  dancing  with  wild  deliri- 
ous joy,  and  the  miser  groans  beneath 
his  bags  of  gold.  There  are,  however, 
some  sober,  respectable  j^eople  on  the 
way.  These  appear  to  look  grave  and 
thoughtful.  The  way  ends,  you  per- 
ceive, in  total  darkness.  Thick  clouds 
of  curling  blackness,  rising  from  a  pit 
or  gulf,  cover  the  extremity  of  the  way. 
The  travelers  enter  the  dismal  shades, 
and  we  see  them  no  more. 

From  the  way  of  death  you  see  an- 
other way,  or  path,  rather,  stretching 
up,  as  it  were,  into  the  clouds.  This 
is  called  the  path  of  life.  It  is  extremely 
narrovv.  It  is,  moreover,  difficult,  on 
account  of  its  upward  tendency.  Few 
persons  are  seen  walking  on  it;  these 
are  scattered  here  and  there.  This  path 
appears  to  end  well.  We  can  sec  where 
it  does  end.  A  beautiful  palace  oj^^ens 
its  golden  gates  to  receive  the  wearied 
travelers.  From  its  opened  portals 
bui'sts  forth  a  dazzling  light  that  illumi- 
nates the  pathway  beneath. 

By  the  way  of  death  is  signified  the 
way  of  sin  that  leads  to  death  eternal. 
'*  The  wages  of  sin  is  death."  Its  down- 
ward tendency  denotes  that  it  is  much 
easier  to  go  wrong  than  to  go  right. 
The  way  of  sin  is  easy  and  pleasant 
to  man's  corrupt  nature.  He  delights 
in  it  after  the  inner  man.  Were  it  not 
so,  surely  so  many  in  all  ages  would 
not  be  found  walking  therein.  The 
'Creator  himself  gives  us  the  reason. 
"  The  thoughts  of  the  imaginations  of 
his  heart  are  evil,  only  evil,  and  that 
continuall3^"  Hence  man  follows  the 
bent  of  his  inclination.  He  goes  with 
the  stream,  "  everyone  in  his  own  way." 
To  do  otherwise  would  require  self-de- 
nial, and  vigorous,  persevering  effort. 

In  the  engraving,  some  are  seen  cast- 
ing themselves  off  the  way.  By  this  is 
meant,  not  that  sinners  grow  tired  of 
the  way  of  sin  exactly,  but  that  they 
ure  tired  of  themselves ;  they  are  tired 


of  life.  Their  substance  is  expended  in 
gambling  and  profligacy.  The  means 
of  indulging  their  depraved  appetite  no 
longer  exists;  hence  they  commit  sui- 
cide, plunge  into  eternity,  and  add  to 
the  number  of  those  who  die  without 
hope;  for,  "  except  yo  repent,  ye  shall 
all  likewise  perish."  Others,  by  their 
excesses  in  riotous  living  and  debauch- 
eries, break  down  their  constitution  and 
destroy  life,  and  thus  perish  with  those 
who  "live  out  not  half  their  days." 

Warriors  are  also  in  the  way  of  death, 
raising  to  the  breeze  the  flag  of  triumph. 
These  denote  the  men  "who  delight  in 
war" — who,forwealth  andglory,  "sink, 
burn,  and  destroy,"  and  slaughter  their 
fellow-creatures.  These  violate  the  law 
of  Jehovah,  "Thou  shalt  not  kill." 
Drunkards,  too,  are  in  this  way,  ca- 
rousing with  strong  drink,  dancing  with 
maniac  madness,  and  yet,  on  the  way 
to  ruin,  drowning  the  cares  of  time, 
but  planting  thorns  for  eternity.  These 
belong  to  the  class  of  whom  it  is  said, 
"Such  shall  not  inherit  the  kingdom  of 
God."  The  one  with  the  bag  of  gold 
represents  that  very  large  class  who 
worship  Mammon  on  the  earth ;  who 
never  think  even  of  heaven,  except 
when  they  remember  that  it  is  paved 
with  gold.  These  are  idolaters,  the 
meanest  of  the  Devil's  drudges,  the 
vilest  of  the  slaves  of  sin.  Others  en- 
joy the  pleasures  of  sin,  but  he  sweats 
and  groans  beneath  his  load;  he  takes 
place  with  the  breakers  of  God's  law. 
"  Thou  shalt  have  no  other  gods  before 
me." 

Some  pass  the  time  in  wanton  dal- 
liance; these  designate  the  adulterer, 
fornicator,  and  the  impure.  These  take 
pleasure  in  unrighteousness,  give  up 
their  affections  to  the  control  of  lust, 
indulge  in  mere  animal  delights,  imbrute 
their  manhood,  quench  their  intellect, 
and  barter  the  glories  of  heaven  for  a 
"portion  in  the  lake  which  burneth 
with  fire  and  brimstone;  thiS  is  the 
second  death."  .  Others  of  staid  and  re- 


EELIGIOUS    ALLEGOEIES. 


75 


spectablc  appearance  are  in  this  way — 
men  of  dignity  and  of  consequence; 
men  of  morals  and  philosophy,  all  hon- 
orable men;  men  who  are  harmless  in 
their  genei'ation,  honest  in  their  deal- 
ings. They  "render  to  Cassar  the  things 
which  are  Caesar's,"  but,  alas  for  them  ! 
they  do  not  "render  unto  God  the  things 
which  are  God's."  One  thing  only  is 
wanting;  "One  thing  thou  lackest." 
The  heart  is  unsurrendered  ;  hence  there 
is  no  repentance,  no  living  faith,  no 
homage,  no  love,  no  obedience,  no  sal- 
vation. These,  alas!  all  take  rank  with 
the  "uniirofitable  servant,"  who  was 
cast  into  outer  darkness,  where  there 
is  weeping,  and  wailing,  and  gnashing 
of  teeth. 

But  time  would  fail  to  describe  the 
various  characters  that  throng  the  way 
of  death.  The  gross  sensualist,  the 
haughty  Pharisee,  and  the  specious 
hypocrite  are  all  here.  But  is  it  pos- 
sible, some  one  may  say,  that  so  many 
are  in  the  way  to  eternal  death?  God 
himself  has  answered  the  question;  we 
have  heard  his  voice.  It  is  not  only 
true  that  they  are  going,  but  that  they 
go  of  their  own  accord.  The  sinner  is 
threatened,  admonished,  and  warned, 
and  yet  he  goes  on.  He  is  persuaded, 
entreated,  and  invited  to  turn  and  live, 
and  yet  he  goes  on. 

If  you  see  a  man  traveling  a  road  that 
you  know  to  be  frequented  with  robbers, 
3'ou  tell  him  of  his  danger;  he  persists 
in  going  on;  the  robbers  strip  him  and 
leave  him  for  dead;  who  is  to  blame? 
The  sinner  is  warned  of  his  danger,  and 
yet  ho  persists  in  sin.  Numbers  control 
not  the  sword  of  Justice.  The  antedi- 
luvians were  faithfully  warned;  they 
went  on,  and  perished  in  the  flood.  The 
men  of  Sodom  were  warned;  they  per- 
sisted, and  perished  in  the  rain  of  tire. 
The  Jews  were  warned  also,  even  hy 
the  Son  of  God,  and  yet  they  went  on 
in  rebellion,  until  of  their  city  not  one 


stone  was  left  standing  uj^on  another, 
and  themselves  scattered  and  j)eeled 
among  the  nations. 

The  sinner  neglects  a  great  salvation. 
Neglecting  only  to  get  into  the  ark  will 
expose  him  to  the  flood  of  fire.  Neg- 
lecting salvation,  he  contemns  the 
"love  of  God."  Ho  "tramples  upon 
the  blood  of  the  covenant."  He  does 
"despite  to  the  Spirit  of  grace."  How 
shall  he  escape  if  he  neglects  so  great 
salvation?  "These  shall  go  away  into 
everlasting  punishment." 

By  the  path  of  life  is  designated  the 
path  of  holiness,  that  leads  to  life  eter- 
nal. "Blessed  are  the  pure  in  heart, 
for  they  shall  see  God."  It  is  narrow 
and  steep  ;  it  requires  care  and  effort. 
The  pilgrim  must  deny  himself,  take  up 
his  cross  daily,  and  watch  unto  prayer. 
It  is  difficult  only  to  flesh  and  blood;  to 
the  carnal  mind,  not  to  the  spiritual;  to 
the  unregcnerate,  not  to  him  that  is 
born  again.  To  the  righteous  its  wayn 
are  ways  of  pleasantness,  and  ail  its 
paths  are  paths  of  peace.  Narrow  is 
the  way  that  leads  to  life,  and  few  there 
are  who  find  it.  Fewer  still  endure  to 
to  the  end  thereof  The  few  were  once 
in  the  way  of  death.  They  were  among 
the  many  that  were  called.  They  obej'cd 
the  heaven I3' call,  forsook  the  broad  way, 
and  entered  upon  the  path  of  life. 

The  path  of  life  ends  well;  God  de- 
lights in  holiness.  He  did  not  overlook 
Noah  in  the  overflowing  of  the  ungodly, 
nor  Lot  in  Sodom.  The  faithful  few  are 
God's  jewels ;  his  hidden  ones,  while 
tribulation  and  "anguish  are  assigned 
to  the  disobedient."  The  patient  con- 
tinuance of  the  righteous  in  well-doing 
"will  be  rewarded  with  glory,  and  hon- 
or, and  immortality;"  for  the  ransomed 
of  the  Lord  shall  return,  and  come  to 
Zion  with  songs  and  everlasting  joy  upon 
their  heads.  They  shall  obtain  joy  and 
gladness,  and  sorrow  and  sighing  shall 
flee  away. 


76 


RELIGIOUS    ALLEGORIES. 


HEBRE'WS, 
Chap,  i: 
verse  11. 


';\yi 


ROMANS, 
Chap,  x: 
verse  13. 


JOB,      . 
Chap,  xxxiv: 
verse  15. 


HEBREWS, 

Chap,  iii: 
verses  7,  8. 


ACTS, 

Chap,  xvii: 

verse  30. 


MATTHEW, 

Chap,  xxiv: 

verse  42. 


ACTS, 
Chap,  i : 
verse  .7. 


2  PETER, 

Chap,  iii : 
verse  10. 


PAST,  PRESENT,  AND  FUTUEE. 


The  world  passeth  away, 
salvation.     2  Cor.  vi:  2. 
morrow.     James  iv:  14. 

Look  on  the  Past.     Behold!  wide-scattered  round, 
Time's    fragments — every-where  they   strew  the 

ground; 
The  Dead  are  there — once  blooming,  young,  and 

gay, 

'Mid  putrefaction,  lo!  they  waste  away. 
The  aged  oak,  once  tall,  and  strong,  and  green, 
Decayed  and  withered  in  the  past  is  seen; 
The  lordly  mansion,  once  the  owner's  trust, 
Its  glory  gone,  see  crumbling  into  dust. 


1  John  u:  17. Noiv  is  the  day  of 

—  Ye  know  not  w-hat  shall  be  on  the 


E'en  Egypt's  boast,  the  pyramids  of  yore. 
Shall  fall  to  ruin,  and  be  known  no  more. 
The  Past  is  gone;  the  Future  black  as  night, 
By  clouds  lies  hidden  from  all  mortal  sight; 
The  Present's  here — see  there  with  angel  brow, 
Wisdom  lifts  up  her  voice  of  mercy.     Now — 
JVow — the  accepted  time,  the  gracious  day, 
When  man  repentant,   wipes  his  stains  away; 
Inspires  new  life,  through  the  atoning  blood. 
And  writes  his  name  among  the  sons  of  God. 


This  picture  is  emblematical  of  the 
Past,  Future,  and  Present,  as  these  di- 
visions of  time  appear  to  us  who  are 
now  on  the  stage  of  human  life.     Be- 


hold the  Past!  See  there  the  fragments 
that  time  has  left  behind  !  There  is  the 
burying-place,  filled  with  the  records 
of  the  past.     What  a  volume  of  biog- 


RELIGIOUS    ALLEGORIES. 


77 


raphy  is  the  grave-yard!  There  they 
lay,  the  blooming  and  the  beautiful,  the 
strong  and  the  active,  all  moldering 
into  dust.  The  laughing  eye,  the  noble 
brow,  the  dimpled  cheek,  the  teeth  of 
pearl,  the  musical  tongue,  the  brain 
creative,  and  the  cunning  hand — all,  all 
are  silent  in  the  tomb,  and  melting  into 
earth. 

There,  too,  is  the  oak,  that  once 
towered  in  strength  and  beauty,  now 
withered  and  decayed.  Once  it  gave 
shelter  to  the  beasts  of  the  field — the 
fowls  of  the  air  lodged  in  its  branches; 
now  it  needs  a  prop  to  prevent  its  fall- 
ing to  the  ground. 

The  splendid  mansion  is  seen  crum- 
bling into  dust.  Architecture,  and  sculp- 
ture, and  painting  had  bestowed  upon 
it  their  highest  efforts;  the  artist  looked 
with  pride  u])on  it,  the  owner  delighted 
in  it.  But  it  is  gone;  its  glory  has  de- 
parted; it  is  among  the  things  that  have 
been. 

In  the  distance  are  seen  the  huge 
forms  of  the  pyramids  —  Egypt's  re- 
nown and  the  wonder  of  the  world — 
memorials  of  the  past,  telling  us  of  the 
folly,  cruelty,  despotism,  and  ambition 
of  kings — telling  us,  too,  doubtless,  of 
the  sweat,  and  groans,  and  tears,  and 
blood  of  thousands  of  the  men  like  our- 
selves, who  slaved  and  labored  to  build 
these  gigantic  monuments;  but  these, 
also,  will  pass  away — if  not  before,  they 
must  when  the  earth  shall  reel  to  and 
fro,  and  totter  like  a  drunken  man. 
Then,  at  least,  all  physical  reminis- 
cences of  the  past,  sinking  into  the  deep 
sea  of  oblivion  will  be  recognized  no 
more. 

The  Future  is  represented  by  clouds 
of  darkness  that  rise  upon  the  path, 
and  shut  out  from  mortal  vision  all 
prospect  of  what  is  before.  Religion, 
the  daughter  of  the  skies,  who  de- 
scended from  heaven,  and  who  is  has- 
tening back  again  to  her  blest  abode, 
is  seen  on  the  circular  path  of  time. 
It   is   time    Present,  wherever  she   a]?- 


pears.  She  holds  in  her  hand  a  scroll; 
see  its  burden!  She  is  in  earnest.  She 
looks  benignly  and  compassionately  as 
she  passes  by;  she  makes  known  to  man 
his  highest  good.  Above  her  head  is 
seen  a  crown  of  glory ;  this  she  prom- 
ises to  all  who  will  obey  her  voice,  and 
improve  the  present  time. 

The  past  is  gone — the  castles,  the 
mansions,  the  green  oak,  and  the  tower, 
and  let  them  go!  The  monuments  of 
the  pride,  and  ambition,  and  wicked- 
ness of  kings  and  conquerors,  are  crum- 
bling into  dust,  and  let  them  crumble! 
The  glory,  splendor,  and  renown  of 
heroes,  are  fast  fading  away,  and  let 
them  fade.  But  the  dead  shall  live 
again;  they  that  sleej)  in  the  dust  shall 
awake;  that  which  is  sown  in  dishonor 
shall  be  raised  in  glory. 

The  past  is  gone.  The  time  once 
lost,  is  lost  forever.  Past  opportunities 
for  doing  good,  and  for  getting  good 
are  gone,  and  gone  forever.  'T  is  great- 
ly wise  to  talk  with  our  past  hours, 
and  ask  them  what  report  they  bore  to 
heaven."     Happy  he, 

"  Whose  work  is  done;  who  triumphs  in  the 
past; 
Whose  yesterdays  look  backward  with  asmile; 
Nor  like  the  Parthian  wound  him  as  they  fly 
That  common  but  opprobrious  lot.  Past  hours 
If  not  by  guilt,  yet  wound  us  by  their  flight, 
If  folly  bounds  our  prospect  by  the  grave." 

Yet  there  is  a  sense  in  which  the  past 
never  dies.  It  haunts  us  like  the  ghost 
of  the  murdered;  it  is  ever  present,  an 
angel  of  light,  casting  upon  us  a  look 
of  heavenly  love,  or  a  demon  of  dark- 
ness, scowling  with  malignity  and  hate. 
Thy  memory  will  exist  forever;  the  re- 
membrance of  jjast  actions  will,  there- 
fore, live  forever.  "  O,  for  yesterdays 
to  come!" 

The  Future  is  conceated;  clouds  and 
darkness  hide  i't  from  our  view.  We 
know  not  what  a  day  may  bring  forth, 
nor  what  an  hour;  wo  know,  however, 
that  death  is  there,  and  after  death  the 
judgmeut,  and  after  the  judgment  the 


78 


EELIGIOUS    ALLEGOEIES. 


issues  thereof— " Eternal  life,''  or  "Eter- 
nal death."  But  this  is  all  we  know, 
and  this  is  enough,  if  we  are  wise. 
How  much  of  joy  or  sorrow  there  may- 
be for  us  in  the  future  we  know  not; 
whether  our  path  will  be  strewed  with 
roses  or  with  thorns  we  can  not  tell — 
most  likely  they  will  be  mixed.  "What 
opportunities  for  improvement  in  re- 
ligious duties  and  privileges,  or  what 
hindrances  we  may  have,  we  know  not; 
how  much  of  life,  who  can  tell?  A  man 
may  plant,  and  build,  and  lay  up  goods 
for  many  years,  and  yet  to-day  may  be 
his  last  day — to-night  his  soul  may  be 
required  of  him. 

If,  then,  the  past  is  gone,  and  if  the 
future  may  never  come  to  us  in  life,  it 
behooves  us  to  improve  the  present. 
God,  in  his  mercy,  offers  salvation  now. 
Now  is  the  accepted  time!  now  is  the 
day  of  salvation!  What  is  it  that  is 
offered?  Salvation.  Thou  canst  not 
do  without  salvation ;  without  it  thou 
art  lost  and  lost  forever!  Seize  thou, 
O  seize  the  angel  as  she  passes,  nor 
suffer  her  to  go  until  she  bless  thee ! 
The  present  time,  how  important!  It 
includes  the  vast  concerns  of  the  eter- 
nal state.  Destroy  it  not;  there  is  a 
blessing  in  it.  "Throw  years  away! 
throw  empires,  and  be  blameless!"  The 
present  seize — 

*         *         *         "0  what  heaps  of  slain 
Cry  out  for  vengeance  on  us!    Time  destroyed, 
la  suicide,  where  more  than  blood  is  spilt; 
Time  flies — death  rages — knells  call — heaven 

invites — 
Hell  threatens — all  exerts  ;  in  effort  all ; 
More  than  creation  labors! — labors  more! 
Man  sleeps,  and  man  alone;  and  man  for  whom 
All  else  is  in  alarm ;  man  the  sole  cause 
Of  this  surrounding  storm  ;  and  yet  he  sleeps, 
As  the  storm  rocked  to  rest" 

Now  is  the  accepted  time!  G-od  will 
accept  thee  now;  he  nowhere  promises 
to  accept  thee  to-morrow.  Think,  O 
think  of  thy  soul  and  its  value;  think 
of  Jehovah  and  his  love;  think  of  Christ 
and  his  precious  blood;  think  of  heaven 


and  its  eternal  blessedness ;  of  hell  and 
its  terrible  torments  !  Upon  thy  pres- 
ent conduct  rests  thy  eternal  destiny. 
What  art  thou  sowing  ?  What  art  thou 
working?  What  art  thou  treasuring 
up?  Let  conscience  answer.  Think  of 
the  past  and  all  its  guilt — of  the  future 
and  its  great  uncertainty — of  the  pres- 
ent as  thine.  To-morrow  may  be  too 
late.  Now  is  the  day  of  salvation ;  now 
thou  mayest  wash  away  thy  sins,  call- 
ing upon  the  name  of  the  Lord,  inspire 
a  new  life,  rejoice  in  glorious  hope,  en- 
roll your  name  among  the  children  of 
God,  and  become  a  glorious  citizen  of 
immortality  in  heaven. 

Improve  the  present.  See  I  look  on  that 
beach ;  there  is  a  boat  high  and  dry,  with 
a  man  in  it;  he  is  asleep.  The  ship  to 
which  he  belongs  is  in  the  offing ;  she 
will  sail  the  next  tide.  The  tide  rises, 
the  man  sleeps  on;  the  tide  ebbs,  he 
awakes;  the  water  is  gone,  the  ship  is 
gone,  and  he  is  left  to  perish  on  a  de- 
solate island.  There  is  a  tide  in  man's 
spiritual  affairs,  which,  when  taken  at 
the  rise,  leads  on  to  heaven  ;  omitted,  he 
may  be  left  to  perish.  My  spirit,  saith 
the  Lord,  shall  not  always  strive  with 
man. 

JVow  is  the  accepted  time.  Behold  that 
railroad  car;  it  has  just  started.  Look 
again;  there  is  a  person  with  his  hands 
upraised,  exclaiming,  "Alas,  too  late!" 
He  is  left  behind;  his  friends  are  all  on 
board,  and  he  is  not  with  them.  Great 
is  his  grief  Man  is  a  stranger  here.  God 
sends  the  chariot  of  his  love  to  bear  him 
home.  Again  and  again  it  comes;  it  is 
here  now.  O  sinner,  step  on  board ! 
The  Savior  is  there;  he  invites  thee  to 
leave  thy  sins  and  sinful  companions,  and 
get  on  board  of  the  heavenly  car — the  car 
of  mercy.  It  is  ready  to  start ;  all  things 
are  now  ready;  some  of  thy  friends  are 
there.  Hesitate  not,  delay  not,  or,  like 
the  passenger,  thou  mayest  find  thyself, 
in  a  more  mournful  sense,  "too  late,'' 
and  "a  moment  you  may  wish  when 
worlds  want  wealth  to  buy." 


EELIGIOUS    ALLEGOEIES. 


79 


PSALM 

cxxxix : 

verses  7-10. 


1  PETER, 
Chap,  i: 


^  verse  17. 


PSALM 
xcvii: 
verse  2. 


EOMANS, 
Chap,  xi: 
verse  33. 


EPHESIAJS'S, 
Chap,  v: 
verse  16. 


PSALM 

xe: 
verse  2. 


2  PETER, 

Chap,  iii: 
verse  8. 


DEUTERON'Y, 

Chap,  xxxiii: 

verse  27. 


PROVIDENCE,  TIME,   ETERNITY. 


For  of  him,  and  through  him,  and  to  him  arejdl  things. 

XI:  36. Time  is  short.     1  Cor.  vii :  29.- 

was,  and  which  is  to  come.     Rev.  i :  8. 


Rom. 
Which  is,  and  xohich 


tJpoN  a  narrow  isle,  'mid  waters  vast, 
By  stress  of  tide  the  voyagers  are  cast; 
Beneath  around,  a  dark  and  boundless  sea; 
Above,  thick  clouds  wrap  all  in  mystery. 
The  Ocean  wears  the  shore  on  every  side, 
As  Time  decreases  'neath  the  Eternal  tide. 
Yet  one — deluded  man!  strives  much  to  reach 
The  shells  and  pebbles  on  the  crumbling  beach ; 


The  waves  dash  on — another  pondering  stands, 
And  sees  destruction  come  with  folded  hands. 
Not  so  the  third — he  turns  his  longing  eyes, 
And  views  a  chain  descending  from  the  skies; 
The  Providmlial  chain  with  links  of  love, 
Watched  by  an  eye  that  never  sleeps  above; 
He  grasps  the  chain — from  all  his  fears  it  saves, 
While  his  companions  perish  'neath  the  waves. 


In  the  engraving  is  seen  a  represen- 
tation of  the  All-seeing  Eye.  It  is 
placed  above  every  thing  else,  to  show 
that  the  eye  of  God's  providence  watches 
over  all  creation,  taking  notice  of  every 


event  throughout  all  time  and  space. 
Though  to  human  vision  there  may  be 
clouds  and  darkness  about  the  throne 
of  the  Eternal,  yet  to  his  all-seeing  eye 
darkness  is  as  noonday.     All  things  are 


80 


EELIGIOUS    ALLEGOEIES. 


before  him,  and  nothing  is  too  minute 
for  his  inspection.  He  bees  the  rise  and 
fall  of  empires,  and  with  equal  atten- 
tion sees  the  sparrow  fall  to  the  ground, 
for,  in  a  certain  sense,  nothing  is  great 
or  small  before  him.  Throughout  all 
time  and  space  the  eye  of  Providence 
penetrates ;  yea,  more,  it  reaches  further ; 
eternity  itself,  to  the  human  mind  dark, 
fathomless,  boundless,  endless,  is  pene- 
trated and  comprehended. 

A  chain  is  seen  descending  from  above, 
of  which  we  can  neither  see  the  begin- 
ning or  the  ending;  but;  as  far  as  we 
can  discover,  is  but  a  small  part  of  a 
might}^  whole.  It  is  true  a  man  may 
see  a  few  of  the  links  of  the  chain  be- 
fore him,  their  connection  with  each 
other,  but  how  far  they  may  extend 
above  or  below  his  vision  he  has  no 
knowledge.  This  shows  us  that  the 
great  chain  of  God's  providential  dis- 
pensations in  the  universe  is  but  par- 
tially seen  or  comprehended.  It  is  true, 
while  on  these  mortal  shores,  we  may 
see  a  few  of  the  connecting  links  of  this 
chain,  but  to  what  heights  it  reaches 
or  to  what  depths  it  penetrates  we  have 
no  adequate  conception. 

"  In  what  manner,  indeed,"  says  a 
celebrated  writer,  "  providence  inter- 
poses in  human  affairs,  by  what  means 
it  influences  the  thoughts  and  counsels 
of  men,  and,  notwithstanding  the  in- 
fluence it  exerts,  leaves  to  them  the 
freedom  of  choice,  are  subjects  of  a 
dark  and  mysterious  nature,  and  which 
have  given  occasion  to  many  an  intri- 
cate controversy.  Let  us  remember 
that  the  manner  in  which  God  influ- 
ences the  motion  of  all  the  heavenly 
bodies,  the  nature  of  that  secret  power 
by  which  he  is  ever  directing  the  sun 
and  the  moon,  the  planets,  stars,  and 
comets  in  their  course  through  the 
heavens,  while  they  appear  to  move 
themselves  in  a  free  course,  are  matters 
no  less  inexplicable  to  us  than  the  man- 
ner in  Avhich  he  influences  the  counsels 
of  men.     But  though  the  mode  of  divine 


operation  remains  unknown,  the  fact 
of  an  overruling  influence  is  equally 
certain  in  the  moral  as  it  is  in  the 
natural  world. 

"  In  cases  where  the  fact  is  clearly 
authenticated,  we  are  not  at  liberty  to 
call  its  truth  in  question  merely  becauso 
we  understand  not  the  manner  in  which 
it  is  brought  about.  Nothing  can  be 
more  clear,  from  the  testimony  of  Scrip- 
ture, than  that  God  takes  pax't  in  all 
that  happens  among  mankind,  direct- 
ing and  overruling  the  w^hole  course  of 
events,  so  as  to  make  every  one  of  them 
answer  the  designs  of  his  wise  and 
righteous  government. 

"  We  can  not,  indeed,  conceive  God 
acting  as  the  governor  of  the  world  at 
all,  unless  his  government  were  to  ex- 
tend to  all  the  events  that  can  happen. 
It  is  upon  the  supposition  of  a  particu- 
lar providence  that  our  worship  and 
prayers  to  him  are  founded.  All  his 
perfections  would  be  utterly  insignifi- 
cant to  us,  if  they  were  not  exercised, 
on  every  occasion,  according  as  the  cir- 
cumstances of  his  creatures  required. 
The  Almighty  would  then  be  no  more 
than  an  unconcerned  spectator  of  the 
behavior  of  his  subjects,  regarding  the 
obedient  and  rebellious  with  an  equal 
eye." 

In  the  lower  part  of  the  engraving 
is  seen  a  little  spot  of  earth  in  the  vast 
ocean  by  which  it  is  surrounded,  on 
which  is  seen  three  persons.  This  small 
place  may  represent  Time,  which  has 
arisen  out  of  the  eternity  of  the  past. 
Though  now  visible,  it  is  destined  soon 
to  sink  into  oblivion  in  the  midst  of  the 
mighty  watei's.  One  of  the  figures  on 
this  little  spot  of  time  is  seen  very  busy 
in  collecting  the  little  pebbles  or  par- 
ticles of  shining  dust  around  him.  How 
foolish  this,  when  he  must  know  that 
the  rolling  tide  will  soon  overflow  all 
around  him.  Equally  foolish  is  he  who, 
in  this  transitory  life,  instead  of  look- 
ing upward  and  using  the  means  Prov- 
idence has  placed  within  his  reach  for 


EELIGIOUS    ALLEGOEIES 


81 


hig  escape  from  overflowing  destruction, 
spends  his  precious  moments  in  collect- 
ing the  little  baubles  and  toj-s  of  earth. 

On  the  left  is  seen  one  who  appears 
to  be  gravely  philosophizing  upon  the 
scene  he  beholds  around  him.  He  re- 
alizes that  he  is  standing  on  a  speck  of 
earth,  in  the  midst  of  a  mighty  ocean, 
of  which  he  can  neither  see  the  bottom 
or  the  shore.  He  looks  backward,  all 
is  dark  to  his  vision ;  he  looks  around 
him,  all  is  mysterious  and  incompre- 
hensible ;  forward,  all,  all  is  thick  dark- 
ness. He  is  sensible  that  the  tide  of 
death  will  soon  overflow  him  and  all 
with  whom  he  is  connected;  but  will 
eternal  oblivion  and  forgetfulness  be 
his  portion?  Perhaps  he  thinks  so ;  but 
at  times  the  immortal  spirit  will  stir 
within  him  and  "  startle  back  "  at  the 
thought  of  annihilation.  Ah,  poor  fool! 
he  turns  his  back  and  will  not  look  at 
the  bright  chain  of  God's  providence, 
which  so  manifestly  appears.  Perhaps 
he  may  try  to  persuade  himself  that  the 
chain  hangs  there  by  chance.  He  has 
been  told  that  earth  and  heaven  are 
connected  by  it.  He  professes  to  see 
no  necessary  connection ;  he  can  not  see 
its  beginning,  how  it  is  supported  on 
high.  He  has  heard  that  by  it  man  can 
be  elevated  to  a  heavenly  life.  This 
may  appear  foolishness  to  him.  Per- 
haps he  may  think  that  if  man  were 
destined  to  live  hereafter,  he  would  not 
have  been  placed  on  these  mortal  shores ; 
or  if  immortal,  it  will  be  in  some  other 
mode  than  that  pointed  out  in  the  Bible. 
He  is  wise  in  his  own  conceit.  He  turns 
himself  from  God's  method  of  salvation, 
refuses  to  look  upward,  continues  to 
reason  "in  endless  mazes  lost,"  will  not 
Jay  bold  of  the  only  hope  set  before 
him;  he  "wonders  and  perishes"  in 
the  overflowing  of  the  mighty  waters. 

One  of  the  per^^ons  on  the  little  island 
is  seen  with  his  eyes  turned  upward; 
his  hands  are  uplifted  in  thankfulness 
and  adoration.  He  beholds  the  bright 
chain  of  God's  providential  mercy :  he 


lays  hold  of  the  only  hope  set  before 
him.  It  is  true  he  can  see  but  a  few 
of  the  connecting  links  of  the  golden 
chain  above,  but  he  fully  believes  that 
it  is  connected  with,  and  sustained  by, 
an  Almighty  Power  above.  He  has  oc- 
casional glimpses  of  the  All-seeing  Eye; 
he  feels  that  he  is  under  its  supervision. 
He  feels  himself  encircled,  upheld,  and 
sustained  by  infinite  power  and  love, 
and  rejoices  that  all  things  are  under 
the  control  of  a  kind  Providence. 

It  is  true,  the  Christian  may  see  clouds  and 
darkness  above,  around,  and  below  him.  He 
may  not  know  why  sin,  and  consequently  mis- 
ery, is  suflered  to  exist  in  the  universe  of  God. 
He  may  not  know  why  he  is  placed  here  in 
the  circumstances  by  which  he  is  surrounded. 
He  weeps  often;  it  may  be  to  see  how  sin  has 
laid  waste  the  works  of  God,  how  the  wicked 
often  triumph  and  tlie  good  are  crushed  into 
the  dust.  He  may  not  know  the  beginning  oi 
origin  of  God's  providential  dealings,  how  fai 
they  reach  into  this  or  other  worlds.  But  not' 
withstanding  the  Christian  may  not  be  able  to 
fathom  these  and  many  other  subjects,  yet  he 
confides  in  the  Almighty  power  above.  He 
lays  hold  of  salvation ;  he  is  elevated  to  the 
regions  of  eternal  light  and  glory,  while  his 
unbelieving  companions  perish  amid  the  dark 
rolling  waters  of  the  ocean. 

The  ocean  has  sometimes  been  considered  ae 
an  emblem  of  eternity,  on  account  of  its  vast 
extent,  its  fathomless  depths,  and  its  appearance 
to  human  vision,  oftentimes,  as  without  a  bottom, 
or  shore.  "Eternity,"  says  one,  "  with  respect 
to  God,  is  a  duration  without  beginning  or  end. 
With  regard  to  created  beings,  it  is  a  duration 
that  has  a  beginning,  but  will  never  have  an 
end.  It  is  a  duration  that  excludes  all  number 
and  computation  ;  days,  months,  and  years,  yea, 
and  ages,  are  lost  in  it  like  drops  in  the  ocean. 
Millions  of  millions  of  years,  as  many  years  as 
there  are  sands  on  the  sea  shore  or  particles  of 
dust  in  the  globe  of  the  earth,  and  these  multi- 
plied to  the  highest  reach  of  number,  all  these 
are  nothing  to  eternity.  They  do  not  bear  the 
imagmable  proportion  to  it,  for  these  will  come 
to  an  end  as  certainly  as  a  day;  but  eternity 
will  never,  never,  never  come  to  an  end  !  It  i8 
a  time  without  an  end  !  it  is  an  ocean  without 
a  shore  !  Alas,  what  shall  I  say  of  it !  it  is  an 
infinite,  unknown  something,  that  neither  hu 
man  thought  can  grasf  nor  human  language 
describe  1"  J.  ▼.  ■ 


82 


EELIGIOUS    ALLECrOEIES 


DANIEL, 

Chap,  vii: 
verse  27. 


ISAIAH, 

Chap.  XXXV : 

verse  10. 


2  PETER, 
Chap,  iii : 
verse  13. 


ISAIAH, 

Chap,  xi : 

verse  9. 


EEYELATION^ 

Chap.  XX : 

verse  4. 


ISAIAH, 
Chap,  ii: 
verse  2. 


DANIEL, 
Chap,  ii: 
verse  44. 


EEYELATION, 
Chap,  xi: 
verse  15. 


THE    TRIUMPH  OF   CHRISTIANITY. 

Alleluia  !  for  the  Lord  God  omnipotent  reigneth.    Rev.  xix :  6. 


'Tt3  come!  'tis  come  I     The  long-expected  day. 
When  sin  no  longer  o'er  the  earth  bears  sway; 
But  Truth,  triumphant,  sheds  its  mellow  light, 
And  all  below  is  clear,  and  pure,  and  bright. 
See  Christianity!   the  gift  of  Grace! 
Receives  in  form  the  homage  of  our  race; 
Europa  fair,  her  princely  tribute  brings, 
A  grateful  oifering  to  the  King  of  kings; 
Asia  rejects  the  Shasters  and  the  Sword, 
Throws  by  the  Koran  and  receives  the  Word; 
Lo!  Afric  breaks  her  chains  of  crime  and  blood, 


And  lowly  bending,  lifts  her  Lands  to  God. 

No  more  she  wages  wars  for  white  man's  gold — 

No  more  she  mourns  her  children  bought  and  sold. 

See,  too,  America,  with  pipe  of  peace ! 

Comes  now  to  sue  for  love  and  heavenly  grace; 

The  tomahawk,  and  bow,  and  cruel  knife. 

To  exchange  for  records  of  eternal  life: 

'T is  come!   'tis  come!  the  long-expected  day ! 

Lo !  God  has  triumphed.  Truth  divine  bears  Bwayf 

Loud  alleluias  heavenly  angels  sing. 

For  earth,  renewed  with  joy,  receives  her  king. 


The  engraving  represents  Christian- 
ity receiving  the  homage  of  the  •world. 
In  her  right  hand  she  holds  the  crown 
of  immortality;  in  her  left,  the  Word 
of  God.    Her  looks  and  bearing  bespeak 


grace,  dignity,  majesty,  empire, triumph, 
and  matchless  love.  Behold!  Europe 
brings  her  crown — emblem  of  power— 
and  lays  it  meekly  at  the  feet  of  Chris- 
tianity.   Asia,  represented  by  a  follower 


EELIGIOUS    ALLEGOEIES. 


83 


of  Mahomet,  laying  aside  the  cimeter 
and  tlie  Koran,  receives  with  humble 
adoration,  instead  thereof,  the  revela- 
tions of  G-od's  Word.  Africa  is  repre- 
sented by  a  figure  in  a  kneeling  j^os- 
ture  ;  she  has  broken  off  her  chains,  and 
is  lifting  her  hands  to  heaven.  America 
is  represented  by  an  Indian  ;  he  holds 
in  his  hand  the  calumet,  or  pipe  of 
peace;  he  has  laid  aside  the  murderous 
tomahawk,  the  bow  that  sprang  the  ar- 
row of  death,  and  the  scalping-knife. 
He  buries  the  hatchet  forever,  and  offers 
the  emblem  of  peace. 

The  above  is  a  representation  of  the 
final  triumph  of  Christianity  over  the 
world,  a  day  long  expected  by  the  faith- 
ful, even  from  the  time  of  the  first  j)rom- 
ise,  "He  shall  bruise  thy  head."  That 
this  earth,  this  blood-stained  earth, 
should  become  the  scene  of  triumph, 
has  ever  been  the  hope  of  the  right- 
eous; that  here,  where  was  the  first 
defeat,  renewed  conflict,  and  continued 
struggle,  here  would  be,  and  ought  to 
be,  the  arena  of  victory.  Exulting  in 
this  hope,  the  prophet  touched  the 
sacred  harp  of  prophesy,  and  sang  of 
"  the  sufferings  of  Christ,  and  of  the 
glory  that  should  follow,"  when  he 
would  see  of  the  travail  of  his  soul  and 
be  satisfied.  In  this  hope  Israel's  king 
prayed,  "that  thy  way  may  be  known 
upon  the  earth,  and  thy  saving  health 
among  all  nations."  Inspired  by  this 
hope,  martyrs  have  kissed  the  stake, 
embraced  the  flames,  and  gone  triumph- 
antly home  to  God;  yea,  the  general 
assembly  of  the  Church  of  the  first- 
born— the  whole  body  of  the  faithful 
upon  earth — in  this  hope  rejoicing, 
have  sent  up  their  prayers  continually, 
which,  like  intercessory  angels,  sur- 
rounding the  throne  of  the  Eternal, 
have  prayed,  O  "  let  thy  kingdom 
come." 

And  now  it  has  come.  Europe  is  the 
Lord's ;  she  consecrates  to  God  her  do- 
minion ;  her  kings  and  queens  are  sub- 
ject to  Messiah,  and  labor  to  promote 
13 


the  best  interests  of  their  people.  Her 
people  are  all  righteous;  her  philoso- 
phers having  proved  all  things,  hold 
fast  now  that  which  is  good;  her  rich 
men  deposit  their  wealth  in  the  bank 
of  heaven;  her  statesmen,  studying  the 
politics  of  both  worlds,  regard  also  the 
interests  of  both ;  the  poor  are  raised 
to  competency,  to  knowledge  and  to 
virtue,  and  consequent  happiness.  Her 
arts  and  sciences  are  consecrated  to 
God  ;  her  ships  of  war  now  sail  in  the 
service  of  the  prince  of  peace;  ships  of 
commerce  are  floating  Bethels.  The 
songs  of  Jesus  have  succeeded  to  the 
songs  of  Satan,  and  blasphemies  are 
turned  to  praise. 

"The  abundance  of  the  sea  is  con- 
verted to  God;"  railroads,  steaniboats, 
and  telegraphs  are  all  employed  in  pro- 
moting God's  glory,,  and  in  benefiting 
mankind.  The  Anglo-American  race 
and  others  partake  of  this  triumph; 
they  have  labored  for  it ;  they  rejoice 
in  it,  and  say,  Lo  !  this  is  our  God!  we 
have  waited  for  him,  we  will  rejoice  in 
his  salvation. 

Asia^  too,  is  the  Lord's;  here,  where 
the  conflict  first  began  with  sin  and 
death,  here  the  victory  is  gained.  The 
lion  of  the  tribe  of  Judah  has  prevailed  ; 
the  inhabitants,  so  long  enslaved  by 
despotic  creeds,  now  exercise  faith  in 
the  Lord  Jesus  Christ;  so  long  op- 
pressed by  systems  of  superstition  and 
lalood,  now  rejoice  under  the  mild  yoke 
of  the  Savior;  the  Koran  and  Shasters 
are  exchanged  for  the  Bible,  Jvggernmit 
for  Calvary,  Kalee  for  Jesus,  Mahomet 
for  God.  Here  now  is  seen  "China 
without  its  wall  of  selfishness,  India 
without  its  castes,  and  earth  without 
its  curse."  The  people  are  elevated, 
the  nations  are  united,  Jehovah  is  their 
King. 

Africa  throws  off  her  load,  and  breaKs 
her  chains  and  comes  to  Jesus;  so  long 
crushed  and  degraded,  she  has  at  length 
arisen;  she  takes  her  place  again  with 
the  nations  oif  the  earth,  with  the  re- 


84 


EELIGIOUS    ALLEGORIES. 


deemed.  Ignorance,  superstition,  and 
slavery  are  now  no  more.  Her  warfare 
is  past,  her  mourning  is  o'er,  her  long 
captivity  is  at  an  end.  Jehovah  has 
triumphed,  his  children  are  free. 

"No  more  Coomassie  offers  hum.an  blood, 
But  takes  for  sacrifice  the  Lamb  of  God, 
And  on  Siberia's  long-contested  ground, 
A  living  army  of  the  cross  is  found. 
The  gosi)el  tree,  so  ample  and  so  pure, 
Bears   precious  fruit;    its  leaves  the  nation's 

cure: 
Its  healing. influence  to  Loango  spreads; 
Angola  feels  it,  and  health's  blossoms  sheds, 
And  where  Cimbebas  no  fresh  water  brings. 
Life's  fountains  bubble  in  a  thousand  springs. 
Korana's  shepherds  now  Christ's  flock  become, 
And  Boshetnan's  Kraals  are  changed  to  home, 

sweet  home. 
Good  Hope  has  added  Faith  and  humble  Love; 
The  Cross  has  triumphed!  praise  to  God  above." 

America,  the  whole  of  the  western 
world,  rejoices  in  the  light  of  the  glori- 
ous Sun  of  Righteousness  ;  the  islands 
of  the  sea  wait  for  Jehovah's  law;  the 
Indian  tribes  obey  his  word,  and  hail 
liim  their  Almighty  Lord.  The  tom- 
ahawk and  scalping-knife,  and  other 
weapons  of  war  and  blood,  are  ex- 
changed for  the  olive-branch;  for  the 
war-whoop  is  now  heard  the  sound  of 
the  "church-going  bell,"  greeting  the 
Sabbath  morning;  the  disciple  of  the 
Pope  has  become  the  disciple  of  Jesus, 
and,  laying  aside  all  superstition,  ho 
worships  the  Lord  his  God,  and  him 
only  does  he  serve.  The  dispersed  of 
the  seed  of  Abraham,  the  "scattered 
and  peeled"  among  the  nations,  have 
looked  upon  him  "  they  pierced."  The 
winds  of  heaven  have  blown  upon  the 
valley  of  dry  bones ;  they  have  revived ; 
they  have  come  forth  out  of  their  graves, 
and,  seizing  cveiy  one  the  banner  of  his 
tribe,  have  hastened  to  join  the  army 
of  Messiah. 

Hail!  happy  day!  Jesus  the  Con- 
queror reigns;  the  song  of  triumph  re- 
sounds; island  answers  to  island,  con- 


tinent to  continent,  world  to  world. 
Earth  with  all  its  voices,  heaven  with 
all  its  harps,  resolind,  "The  kingdoms 
of  this  world  are  become  the  kingdoms 
of  our  Lord  and  of  his  anointed,  and 
he  shall  reign  forever  and  ever.  Alle- 
luia! alleluia!  the  Lord  God  Omnipo- 
tent reigneth;"  "he  that  sat  upon  the 
throne  said,  Behold,  I  make  all  things 
new !" 

Even  now  the  Spirit  is  moving  on 
the  face  of  the  human  chaos;  fiat  after 
fiat  goes  forth,  and  what  light  breaks 
in  on  the  darkness  of  ages!  what  mighty 
masses  of  humanity  are  uplifting  them- 
selves  in  solemn  majesty,  like  primitive 
mountains  rising  from  the  deep  !  What 
more  than  verdant  beautj^  clothes  the 
moral  landscape!  Hoav  gloriously  dawns 
the  Sabbath  of  the  world!  "Where  is 
now  the  midnight  gloom  of  darkness 
and  idolatry,  the  desolation  and  misery 
attendant  on  sin?  We  look  and  listen, 
but  no  reign  of  darkness,  no  habitation 
of  cruelty,  no  sound  of  anguish  re- 
mains. The  will  of  God  is  done  on 
earth,  as  it  is  done  in  heaven;  the  na- 
tions own  no  other  law,  and  hence  their 
aspect  is  that  of  a  happy  family.  The 
Cliurch  aims  at  no  other  end,  and  hence 
all  her  members  are  invested  with  the 
garments  of  salvation,  and  with  the 
robes  of  praise.  The  world  is  bathed 
in  the  light  of  peace,  and  purity,  and 
love. 

Inanimate  nature  itself  partakes  of 
the  general  joy.  To  the  eye  of  the  re- 
newed man  it  exhibits  a  beauty  un- 
known before,  and  to  his  ear  it  brings 
lessons  of  surpassing  wisdom.  The  trees 
wave  with  gladness,  and  the  floods  clap 
their  hands;  the  light  of  the  moon  is 
as  the  light  of  the  sun,  and  the  light 
of  the  sun  is  sevenfold.  Over  the  scene 
the  morning  stars  sing  together  and  the 
sons  of  God  shout  for  joy,  while  the  di- 
vine Creator  himself  complacently  be- 
holds it  and  proclaims  it  good. 


THE 


CHRISTIAN  PILGRIM : 


AN  ALLEGORY. 


UNDER  THE  SIMILITUDE  OF  A  DEEAM,  BEING  A  CONDENSED  ACCOUNT  OF 


BUXYAN'S  PILGRIM'S  PROGRESS. 


FROM  THIS  WORLD  TO  THAT  WHICH  IS  TO  COME. 


WITH  EXPLANATORY  NOTES  BY  VARIOUS  AUTHORS. 


"i"  have  used  similitudes."     IIosea,  xii  :  10. 


BY   JOHN   W.    BARBEE, 

ADTHOR   OF   SEVERAL    HISTORICAL    AND    RELIGIOUS   W0RK8. 


BRADLEY,  GARRETSON   &  CO., 

PHILADELPHIA,     No.   66     NORTH     FOURTH    STREET, 

WILLIAM  GARRETSON  &  CO., 

GALESBURG,  ILL.,  COLUMBUS,  OHIO,  NASHVILLE,  TENN.,  HOUSTON,  TEXAS, 

SAN  FRANCISCO,  CAL. 

1875. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  mdccclxvi. 

By  JOHN  W.  BARBER, 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  Connecticut. 


CHRISTIAN    PILGRIM. 


- '1  ligmedTiraete  was  k^D  en"- 1  dreamjed 
M  saw  a  man.  witliatobk  in  his  haiid. :  z;'^ 


Tliis  ancient-looking  picture  is  a  great  curiosity,  "being  in  all  its  feat- 
ures the  same  as  that  in  the  seventh  edition  of  the  Pilgrim's  Progress, 
published  in  1681,  when  Mr.  Bunyan  was  fifty -three  ye^irs  of  age — nearly 
two  Jmndred  years  since.  It  was  intended  as  a  portrait  of  Bunyan 
dreaming.  In  front  is  a  lion  in  a  den,  probably  emblematic  of  the  jail  at 
Bedford  with  its  occupant.  In  the  background  is  the  City  of  Destruction, 
from  which  Cliristinn  is  fleeing  toward  the  wicket  gate  icith  a  burden  on 
his  back  and  a  book  in  his  haiid. 


INTRODUCTION. 


Two  centuries  ago,  John  Biinyan  was  a  prisoner  in  Bedford  jail, 
in  England,  for  preaching  tke  Gospel  according  to  the  dictates  of 
his  conscience,  being  a  dissenter  from  the  established  church.  He 
was  committed  to  jail  in  1660,  and  was  a  prisoner  for  more  than 
twelve  3^ears.  While  there,  he  penned  several  religious  works,  which 
were  afterward  published.  AVhile  thus  shut  out  from  the  world, 
like  John  the  Revelator,  on  the  isle  of  Patmos,  the  immortal  alle- 
gory of  the  "Pilgrim's  Progress"  was  conceived  (may  we  not  say) 
in  the  inspired  mind  of  the  Author,  and  probably  mostly  written, 
before  he  was  liberated  from  prison. 

For  nearly  a  century,  this  remarkable  work  remained  in  com- 
parative obscurity,  being  considered  rather  beneath  the  notice  of 
the  literati  of  that  age.  It  was,  however,  popular  among  the  UKU-al 
and  religious  part  of  the  common  people,  the  same  class  of  old  who 
"heard  gladly"  the  words  of  the  Divine  Teacher.  In  more  modern 
times,  when  the  learned  and  polished  wished  to  ascertain  the  cause 
why  a  book  "written  by  a  tinker"  could  continue  to  be  so  popular 
among  so  large  a  class  of  people,  they  discovered  that  John  Punyan, 
with  all  his  want  of  learning-,  to2:ether  with  his  rouu-hness  of  stvle, 
was  indeed  "a  child  of  genius  and  providence,  a  writer  of  striking 
originality  and  power." 

The  Pilgrim's  Progress  has  been  published  in  every  variety  of 
form — some  of  the  editions  with  all  the  attractions  which  art  or 
taste  could  impart — and  it  has  found  a  place  in  the  libraries  and 
drawing-rooms  of  lords  and  nobles.  "It  has  been  read  with  avidity 
wherever  the  English  language  is  spoken,  and  has  been  translated 
into  more  than  thirty  languages — an  honor  paid  to  no  other  book, 

(5) 


THE    CHRISTIAN    PILGPdM, 


the  Book  of  God  alone  excepted."  Although  two  centuries  have 
nearly  passed  since  it  was  first  issued,  the  work  now  stands  higher 
in  the  public  estimation  than  at  any  former  period,  and  there  is 
every  reason  to  believe  that  it  will  be  read  with  admiration  and 
advantage  until  the  consummation  of  all  things. 

The  secret  of  Bunyan's  charm  is  the  strong  human  interest  which 
he  gives  to  his  characters.  Dr.  Franklin  remarks  that  "  Honest 
John  Bunyan  is  the  first  who  has  mingled  narrative  and  dialogue 
together — a  mode  of  writing  very  engaging  to  the  reader,  who,  in 
the  most  interesting  passages,  finds  himself  admitted,  as  it  were, 
into  the  compan}^,  and  present  at  the  conversation." 

"The  happy  idea,"  says  James  Montgomery,  "of  representing  his 
story  under  the  similitude  of  a  dream,  enabled  him  to  portray,  with 
all  the  liveliness  of  reality,  the  scenes  which  passed  before  him. 
It  makes  the  reader  himself,  like  the  author,  a  spectator  of  all  that 
occurs,  thus  giving  him  a  personal  interest  in  the  events,  an  indi- 
vidual sympathy  for  the  actors  and  sufferers." 

P-obert  Southey,  the  poet-laureate,  the  high-church  advocate,  the 
apologist  of  persecution,  describes  the  "Pilgrim's  Progress"  as  a 
"  book  which  makes  its  way  through  the  fancy  to  the  understanding 
and  the  heart.  The  child  pursues  it  with  wonder  and  delight ;  in 
youth  we  discover  the  genius  it  displa^^s ;  its  worth  is  apprehended 
as  we  advance  in  years ;  and  Ave  perceive  its  merits  feelingly  in 
declining  age." 

The  estimate  of  Coleridge  is  remarkable.  He  says  :  "  This  won- 
derful work  is  one  of  the  very  few  books  which  may  be  read  over 
repeatedly  at  different  times,  and  each  time  with  new  and  different 
pleasure.  I  read  it  once  ,as  a  theologian — and  let  me  assure  you 
that  there  is  a  great  theological  acumen   in   the  work — once  with 

devotional  feelings,  and  once  as   a  poet I  know  of  no 

book,  the  Bible  excepted,  as  above  all  comparison,  which  I,  according 
to  my  judgment  and  experience  could  so  safely  recommend  as  teach- 
ing and  enforcing  the  whole  saving  truth,  according  to  the  mind 
that  was  in  Jesus  Christ,  as  the  "Pilgrim's  Progress."  It  is,  in  my 
conviction,  incomparably  the  best  summa  theologce  evangelkoe  ever 
produced  by  a  writer  not  miraculously  inspired.  I  hold  John  Bun- 
yan  to  be  a  man  of  incomjiarably  greater  genius  than  any  of  them 
(the  divines),  and  to  have  given  a  far  more  edifying  picture  of 
Christianity.  His  "Pilgrim's  Progress"  seems  to  -be  a  complete 
reflection  of  Scripture,  with  none  of  the  rubbish  of  theologians  mixed 
up  with  it.     I  have  been  always  struck  by  its  piety;    I  am  now, 


INTRODUCTION 


having  read  it  through  again,  after  a  long  interval,  struck  equally, 
or  even  more,  by  its  profound  wisdom." 

^  Macauley  places  the  shrine  of  Bunyan  next  to  that  of  Milton,  in 
his  hero  worship.  In  his  review  of  "Southey's  Life  of  Bunyan,".  he 
says :  "  The  characteristic  peculiarity  of  the  "  Pilgrim's  Progress"  is, 
that  it  is  the  only  work  of  its  kind  which  i)ossesses  a  strong  human 
interest.  Other  allegories  only  amuse  the  fancy.  It  is  not  so  with 
the  "Pilgrim's  Progress.  That  wonderful  book,  while  it  obtains 
admiration  from  the  most  fastidious  critics,  is  loved  by  those  who 
are  too  simple  to  admire  it.  In  the  wildest  parts  of  Scotland  it  is 
the  delight  of  the  peasantry.  In  every  nursery  the  "  Pilgrim's 
Progress  "  is  a  greater  favorite  than  "Jack  the  Giant  Killer."  Every 
reader  knows  the  strait  and  narrow  path  as  well  as  he  knows  the 
road  in  which  he  has  gone  backward  and  forward  a  hundred  times. 
This  is  the  higLest  miracle  of  genius — that  things  which  are  not, 
should  be  as  though  they  were — that  the  imaginations  of  one  mind 
should  become  the  personal  recollections  of  another ;  and  this  mira- 
cle the  tinker  has  wrought.  The  style  of  Bunyan  is  delightful  to 
every  reader,  and  invaluable,  as  a  study,  to  every  person  who  wishes 
to  obtain  a  wide  command  over  the  EnQ-lish  lan^'uaa'e.  The  vocabu- 
lary  is  the  vocabulary  of  the  common  people.  For  magniliccnce, 
for  pathos,  for  vehement  exhortations,  for  subtle  disquisitions,  for 
every  j)urpose  of  the  poet,  the  orator,  and  the  divine,  this  homely 
dialect,  the  dialect  of  plain  working  men,  was  perfectly  sufficient. 
Though  there  were  many  clever  men  in  England  during  the  latter 
half  of  the  seventeenth  century,  there  were  only  two  great  creative 
minds:  one  of  those  minds  produced  the  "Paradise  Lost,"  the  other 
the  "Pilgrim's  Pro^-ress!"  Other  alleo-orists  have  shown  2:rcat  in- 
genuity,  but  no  other  allegorists  have  ever  been  able  to  touch  the 
heart,  and  to  make  abstractions  objects  of  terror,  of  piety,  and  of 
love." 

Elstow  is  one  mile  from  the  outskirts  of  Bedford.  There  are  no 
houses  on  the  route  between  the  villages.  The  country  is  open  and 
generally  level,  having  very  much  the  appearance  of  the  better  ]">or- 
tion  of  our  northern  Atlantic  States,  excepting,  of  course,  the  hedge- 
rows on  each  side  of  the  road,  which  were  so  tluck-set,  that  in  many 
places  one  could  hardly  see  into  the  fields  adjoining  the  road. 

As  I  entered  the  village,  I  was  quite  struck  with  the  appearance 
of  a  man  tinkering/  in  the  narrow  street,  nearly  opposite  the  small 
house  seen  in  the  central  part  of  the  engraving.  This  house,  I  was 
afterward  informed,  was  the  one  in  which  John  Bunyan  was  borii, 


THE    CHEISTIAK    PILGRIM. 


and  where  he  lived,  and,  in  all  probability,  worked  at  the  same 
business,  on  or  near  the  same  spot,  two  centuries  before.  The  ac- 
com2:>anying  view  shows  the  southern  extremity  of  the  village  as  it 


ELSTOW,    THE    BIRTH-PLACE    OF    JOHN    BUNYAN. 

Drawn  by  the  Author,  ivhen  on  a  visit  to  this  2)lace  several  years  since. 

is  entered  on  the  Bedford  road.  The  hawthorn  hedges  appear  on 
each  side  of  the  road,  and  the  thatched-roofed  cottages  next.  The 
Bunyan  house  is  the  smallest  in  the  view,  and  has  two  windows  in 
its  roof.  By  the  very  ancient  appearance  of  the  houses  and  sur- 
roundings, I  should  judge  there  had  been  no  material  alteration  in 
the  appearance  of  the  village  since  the  time  that  Bunyan  lived  in 
it,  two  centuries  since.  Even  the  dress  of  some  of  the  inhabitants 
appeared  quite  antiquated,  and  judging  from  some  language  which  I 
heard  while  in  the  village,  the  morality  of  the  inhabitants  remained 
at  the  same  standard  as  in  the  days  of  Bunyan. 

Having  made  some  inquiries  of  an  aged  and  respectable  inhabit- 
ant, who  had  always  lived  within  a  few  rods  of  the  Bunyan  house, 
ho  kindly  offered  his  services  in  conducting  me  to  the  localities  in 


INTEODUCTION. 


which  I  felt  interested.  The  cottage  in  which  Bunyan  was  born, 
and  in  which  he  lived,  was  of  course  the  first  spot  visited.  As  I 
entered  this  humble,  but  venerated  dwelling,  I  was  struck  with  the 
appearance  of  its  great  antiquity.  The  entrance  door  from  the 
street  was  so  low  that  a  person  or  but  moderate  height  could  but 
hardly  enter  it  without  stooping.  The  floor  was  of  brick,  and  the 
timbers  overhead  projected  below  the  ceiling.  William  Church,  the 
tenant,  was  absent  as  a  day  laborer,  but  his  wife,  a  resj:)ectable 
looking  woman,  was  working  at  the  wash-tub,  near  the  large  fire- 
place. I  told  her  I  had  rather  have  the  privilege  of  coming  under 
her  roof  than  of  going  into  the  palace  of  Queen  Victoria,  and  thnt 
John  Bunyan,  the  tinker,  who  once  lived  in  her  house,  was  better 
known  and  more  respected  in  America,  where  I  belonged,  than  all 
the  kings  and  queens  they  ever  had,  or  probably  ever  would  have, 
in  England.  Also  that  John  Bunyan's  book  was  more  read  and 
admired  in  my  country  than  in  any  other,  and  that  his  name  would 
be  venerated  while  the  names  of  th-eir  great  men  of  the  present 
age  would  be  forgotton. 


Bedford  Jail,  vchcre  Bunyan  wrote  his  Filgrima  Pronrcss. 


THE  LIFE  OF  JOHN  BUNYAN. 


John  Bunyan,  the  author  of  the  Pilgrim's  Progress,  was  born  in 
1628,  at  Elstow,  a  small  village  about  a  mile  from  Bedford.  His 
parents  were  very  poor,  and  his  father  followed  the  occupation  of  a 
tinker,  but  bore  a  fair  character.  He  took  care  that  his  son,  whom 
he  brought  up  to  the  same  business,  should  be  taught  to  read  and 
write.  The  character  of  Bunyan,  in  his  youth,  previous  to  his  con- 
version, is  usually  represented  as  extremely  profligate  and  wicked. 
This  does  not  appear  from  the  facts  recorded  of  his  life.  His  beset- 
ting and  prominent  sin  was  that  of  profanity,*  to  which  he  got 
addicted  at  an  early  age.  His  fluency  of  speech  and  force  of  man- 
ner probably  rendered  him  conspicuous  among  his  companions  in 
this  vice.  To  his  habit  of  swearing,  he  probably  added  that  of 
lying,  and  he  might  have  been  properly  called  a  coinmon  swearer. 
It  does  not  appear  that  he  was  guilty  of  the  prevalent  sin  of  intem- 
perance or  licentiousness.  Although  perfectly  willing  to  sjjeak  of 
himself  in  the  most  disparaging  terms,  he  emphatically  denied  that 
he  was  ever  guilty  of  the  latter  crime. 

At  a  very  early  age  his  conscience  condemned  him,  and  he  sufl*ered 
much  by  frightful  dreams  about  devils  and  lost  S23irits — the  reflec- 
tion, no  doubt,  of  religious  impressions  on  a  sensitive  mind.     The 

*  It  is  believed  that  this  odious  habit  still  prevails  to  some  extent  in  Bun- 
yan's  native  place.  When  on  a  visit  to  Elstow,  in  1853,  as  I  was  passing 
through  the  narrow  street  of  the  village,  by  one  of  its  humble  dwellings,  I 
heard,  from  within,  profane  language.  This,  with  the  circumstance  of  a  man's 
tinkering  in  the  street,  at  the  same  time,  and  both  within  a  few  yards  of  the 
house  where  Bunyan  was  born,  was  somewhat- of  a  remarkable  occurrence. 
The  "Immortal  Dreamer"  was  represented  in  two  jihases  of  his  youthful  char- 
acter— first,  he  was  heard  as  a  common  swearer,  and,  second,  he  was  seen  as  a 
tinker,  on  the  very  spot  they  were  exhibited  two  centuries  ago. — j.  w.  B. 
(10) 


THE    LIFE    OF   JOHK    BUNYA:N".  11 

fears  of  future  retribution  came  upon  him,  not  only  in  the  night 
season,'  but  also  during  his  waking  hours,  when  he  had  hardly 
reached  the  age  of  ten  years,  when  among  his  vain  companions. 
At  such  times,  when  deeming  it  in  vain  to  wish  there  were  no  hell, 
he  could  wish  himself  a  devil,  so  that,  instead  of  being  tormented, 
he  could  be  the  tormentor.  A  copious  narrative  of  these  inward 
conflicts  and  of  his  outward  life  is  contained  in  a  treatise  published 
by  himself  under  the  title  of  "  Grace  abounding  to  the  chief  of  sinners.'" 

While  in  his  career  of  sin  and  folly,  uttering  profanity  with 
almost  every  word,  he  was  severely  reproved  by  a  woman,  who  was 
a  notorious  sinner  herself,  who  said  that  it  made  her  tremble  to 
hear  him,  adding  that  he  was  "the  ungodliest  fellow  for  swearing, 
that  she  ever  heard  in  all  her  life,  and  that  he  was  able  to  spoil  all 
the  youth  in  the  whole  town,  if  they  came  into  his  company." 
This  reproof,  coming  from  such  a  woman,  filled  him  with  shame, 
and  from  that  time  he  began  to  leave  off  the  practice.  In  this  part 
of  his  life  he  was  several  times  preserved  from  death — twice  from 
drowning,  and  once  from  the  fangs  of  a  poisonous  reptile.  In  1645, 
being  a  soldier  in  the  Parliament's  army  at  the  siege  of  Leicester, 
Ue  was  drawn  out  to  stand  sentinel ;  but  one  of  his  comrades,  haA'- 
ing  by  his  own  desire,  taken  his  place,  was  shot  through  the  head 
on  his  post. 

Bunyan  was  married  at  the  early  age  of  nineteen.  The  young 
woman  who  became  his  wife  was  almost  portionless,  and  they  began 
housekeeping  without  so  much  as  "a  dish  or  spoon "  between  them. 
She  was  the  daughter  of  a  person  who  had  been>very  religious  in 
his  way,^  and  remarkably  bold  in  reproving  vice.  Her  discourse  to 
him  of  ner  deceased  father's  piety,  excited  him  to  go  regularly  to 
church ;  and  as  she  brought  him  for  her  whole  portion,  The  Practice 
of  Pietij  and  The  plain  man's  Pathway  to  Heaven,  he  employed  him- 
self frequently  in  reading  these  books,  this,  with  her  conversa- 
tion, caused  him  to  make  some  exertions  to  reform  his  life. 

He  now,  to  adopt  his  own  language,  "fell  in  very  eagerly  with 
the  religion  of  the  times."  He  was  very  punctual  in  his  attend- 
ance at  church  in  his  native  village,  and  had  great  reverence  tor 
every  thing  connected  with  it>— the  priest,  the  clerk,  the  altar,  and 
surplice.  His  first  clear  sense  of  the  evil  of  sin  seems  to  have  been 
by  the  impression  made  upon  him  by  a  sermon  against  Sabbath 
breaking,  a  practice  in  which  he  continued  to  indulge,  notwith- 
standing he  had  become  a  diligent  frequenter  of  the  church.   ^ 

By  methods  certain,  though  gradual,  however,  and  in  spite  ot 


12  THE    CHEISTIAN    PILGEIM. 

frequent  relapses,  Bunyan  was  being  led  to  clearer  and  more  scrip- 
tural views.  Though  the  impressions  of  the  sermon  wore  oif  while 
he  was  at  dinner,  and  he  betook  him  to  the  afternoon  sports  then 
tolerated  by  law,  his  serious  thoughts  returned  as  quickly  as  they 
had  vanished.  "The  same  day,"  he  relates,  "as  I  was  in  the  midst 
of  a  game  of  cat,  and  having  struck  it  one  blow  from  the  hole,  just 
as  I  was  about  to  strike  the  second  time,  a  voice  did  suddenly  dart 
from  heaven  into  m}^  soul,  which  said,  'Wilt  thou  leave  thy  sins 
and  go  to  heaven,  or  have  thy  sins  and  go  to  hell?'  At  this  I  was 
put  to  an  exceeding  maze;  wherefore  leaving  my  cat  upon  the 
ground,  I  looked  up  ta  heaven,  and  was  as  if  I  had,  with  the  eyes  of 
my  understanding,  seen  the  Lord  Jesus  looking  down  upon  me,  as 
being  very  hotly  displeased  with  me,  as  if  he  did  severely  threaten 
me  with  some  grievous  punishment."  He  was  now  tempted  to 
conclude  that  it  was  too  late  to  repent,  and  that  he  had  better  follow 
his  corrupt  inclinations  without  restraint,  as  he  could  have  no  other 
pleasure  during  his  wliole  existence. 

Bunyan,  notwithstanding  all  his  convictions,  seemed  reluctant  to 
part  with  his  irreligious  associates  and  vain  pleasures,  until  the 
conversion  of  a  poor  man,  who  came  in  his  way,  induced  him  to 
read  the  Bible,  especially  the  preceptive  and  historical  parts  of  it, 
and  this  put  him  upon  an  entire  reformation  of  his  conduct,  so  that 
his  neighbors  were  greatly  astonished  at  the  change.  In  this  man- 
ner he  went  on  for  about  a  year,  at  sometimes  satisfied  with  him- 
self, and  at  others  distressed  with  fears  and  consciousness  of  guilt. 
While  in  this  state  of  mind,  when  at  Bedford,  in  the  exercise  of 
his  trade  as  a  tinker,  he  overheard  the  conversation  of  three  or  four 
poor  women  respecting  regeneration  or  the  new  birth,  and  thougn 
he  did  not  understand  their  meanhig,  he  was  greatly  affected  by 
the  earnestness,  cheerfulness  and  humility  of  their  behavior. 

Being  thus  led  to  frequent  their  company,  he  was  convinced  that 
his  own  views  of  religion  were  very  detective,  and  he  was  brought, 
as  it  were,  into  a  new  world.  Such  an  entire  change  took,  place  in 
his  views  and  affections,  and  his  mind  was  so  deeply  engaged  in 
contemplating  the  great  concerns  of  eternity,  and  the  things  per- 
taining to  the  kingdom  of  Grod,  that  he  found  it  difficult  to  think  on 
any  other  subject.  This  uncommon  flow  of  affections,  not  being  with 
proportionate  religious  knowledge,  laid  him  open  to  the  various 
attempts  of  Satan  and  his  emissarie^s.  Among  these  were  the  Banters, 
a  sect  of'  the  time,  who  made  loud  professions  of  faith^  but  had  very 
little  to  do  with  good  works.     While  engaged  in  reading  their  books, 


THE    LIFE    OF    JOHN    BUNYAN.  13 


not  being  able  to  decide,  in  his  judgment,  about  them,  he  was  led 
to  offer  up  the  following  prayer  which  is  perfectly  appropriate  to  all 
persons  in  the  same  circumstances,  in  all  ages  or  places : 

''0,  Lord,  I  am  a  Fool,  ai^d  not  able  to  know 
the  truth  from  error:  Lord,  leave  me  not  to  my 
own  blindness,  either  to  approve  or  condemn  this 
doctrine.  If  it  be  of  God,  let  me  not  despise  it; 
if  it  be  of  the  Devil,  let  me  not  embrace  it.  Lord, 
I  lay  my  soul  in  this  matter  onl}^  at  thy  feet ; 
let  me  not  be  deceived,  I  humbly  beseech  thee." 

Ko  Christian  will  be  surprised  that  such  a  prayer,  in  such  a  spirit 
•was  granted.  The  Epistles  of  St.  Paul,  which  he  now  read  with 
great  attention,  but  without  any  guide  or  instructor,  gave  occasion 
to  his  being  assaulted  by  sore  temptations,  lie  found  the  Apostle 
had  much  to  say  about  faith ;  and  he  could  not  understand  the 
meaning  of  that  word,  or  discover  whether  he  was  a  believer  or  not. 
He  was  tempted  to  seek  a  solution  of  the  difficulty  by  trying  to 
Avork  a  miracle.  He  thought,  however,  it  would  be  right  to  i)ray 
before  he  made  the  attempt,  and  thus  he  was  induced  to  desist, 
though  his  difficulties  remained.  By  the  means  of  these  inward 
trials,  he  was  enabled,  afterward,  to  instruct  others  on  these  subjects, 
and  more  tenderly  to  sympathize  with  the  tempted. 

Eventually,  Bunyan  became  acquainted  with  ^Ir.  (lifford,  a  Bap- 
tist minister,  at  Bedford,  whose  conversation  was  useful  to  him. 
Soon  after  this,  he  was  admitted,  by  baptism,  a  member  of  Mr.  Gil- 
ford's church,  in  1665,  being  then  twenty-seven  years  old.  Soon, 
he  was  earnestly  desired  by  his  brethren  to  expound,  or  preach,  as 
a  preparation  for  the  ministry.  At  first  he  resisted  their  importu- 
nity, under  a  deep  sense  of  incompetency;  but  was  at  length  pre- 
vailed upon  to  speak  in  a  small  company,  which  he  did,  greatly  to 
their  satisfaction.  Having  been  thus  proved  for  a  considerable  time, 
he  was  at  length  called  forth,  and  set  apart  to  the  ministerial  office 
by  fasting  and  prayer.  This  he  executed  with  faithfulness  and  suc- 
cess during  a  long  course  of  years,  though  frequently  through  many 
inward  trials. 

Bunyan's  companions  and  associates,  before  his  conversion,  were 
among  the  scum  of  every  town  and  village  in  the  county  among 
which  he  itinerated,  while  working  at  his  trade  as  a  fin/cer.  To  this 
class,  among  whom  he  had  been  a  ringleader,  m  their  vicious  con- 


14  THE    CHEISTIAN    PILGEIM. 

duct,  he  felt  himself  particularly  drawn  during  the  first  years  of 
his  ministry.  Accordingly,  his  "great  desire,"  as  he  calls  it,  was 
to  get  into  the  darkest  places  of  the  country,  even  among  those 
people  who  were  the  furthest  off  of  a  profession.  "My  spirit,"  he 
adds,  "did  lean  most  after  awakening  and  converting  work,  and  the 
word  I  carried  did  lean  itself  most  that  way  also,"  This  it  doubt- 
less was  that  led  him  to  write  and  circulate  that  awakening  work, 
^'-  Sighs  from  Hell;  or,  The  Groans  of  a  Damned  SouV — a  work  no  man 
could  have  written  who  had  not  been  in  the  ways  of  the  ungodly 
himself,  and  known  experimentally  the  pangs  of  remorse. 

When  the  restoration  of  the  monarchy  took  place  after  the  civil 
wars  in  England,  the  laws  were  framed  and  executed  with  a  severity 
evidently  intended  to  exclude  every  man  who  scrupled  the  least 
tittle  of  the  doctrine,  liturgy,  or  government  of  the  established 
church.  John  Bunyan  was  one  of  the  first  sufferers  by  them ;  for, 
being  courageous  and  unreserved,  he  went  on  in  his  ministerial 
work  without  any  disguise.  On  November  12th,  1660,  he  was 
apprehended  by  a  warrant  from  Justice  Wingate,  at  Harlington, 
near  Bedford,  with  sixty  other  persons,  and  committed  to  the  county 
jail.  Security  was  offered  for  his  appearance  at  the  sessions,  but  it 
was  refused,  as  his  sureties  would  not  consent  that  he  should  be 
restricted  from  preaching. 

When  his  trial  came  on,  the  indictment  stated  "that  John  Bun- 
yan, of  the  town  of  Bedford,  laborer,  had  devilishly  and  perniciously 
abstained  from  coming  to  church  to  hear  divine  service;  and  was  a 
common  upholder  of  several  unlawful  meetings  and  conventicles,  to 
the  great  disturbance  and  distraction  of  the  good  subjects  of  this 
kingdom,  contrary  to  laws  of  our  Sovereign  Lord  the  King."  The 
facts  charged  upon  him  were  never  proved,  as  no  witnesses  were 
produced.  He  had,  however,  confessed  before  the  magistrates  that 
he  was  a  Dissenter,  and  had  preached;  these  words  being  considered 
as  equivalent  to  conviction,  were  recorded  against  him,  and  as  he 
refused  to  conform,  he  was  sentenced  to  perpetual  banishment.  This 
sentence,  indeed,  was  not  executed,  but  he  was  confined  in  Bedford 
jail  more  than  twelve  years,  notwithstanding  several  attempts  were 
made  to  obtain  his  deliverance. 

It  appears  that  sixty  Dissenters  and  two  ministers  were  confined 
with  Bunyan  in  this  jail,  and  as  some  were  discharged,  others  were 
committed  during  the  time  of  his  imprisonment.  This  painful 
situation,  however,  gave  him  an  opportunity  of  privately  exercising 
his  ministry  to  good  effect.     He  learned,  in  prison,  to  make  lagged- 


THE    LIFE    OF    JOHN    BUNYAN.  15 

thread  laces  in  the  intervals  oi  his  other  labors,  and  by  this  employ- 
ment he  provided  for  the  wants  of  himself  and  family.  He  seems 
to  have  been  endued  with  extraordinary  patience  and  courage,  and 
to  have  experienced  abundant  consolations  while  enduring  these 
hardships ;  he  was,  however,  sometimes  distressed  about  his  family, 
especially  his  eldest  daughter,  who  was  blind ;  but  in  these  trying 
seasons  he  received  comfort  from  meditating  on  the  promises  of 
God's  Word. 

Bunyan,  like  Joseph  in  Egypt,  found  a  friend  in  the  keeper  of  the 
prison.  He  permitted  him  to  see  his  family  and  friends,  and 
during  the  former  •  part  of  his  imprisonment  he  was  even  allowed 
to  go  out  occasionally,  and  once  to  London,  probably  to  ascertain 
whether  legal  redress  might  be  obtained.  Elizabeth,  the  wife  of 
Bunyan,  a  very  superior  woman  and  faithful  wife,  made  several 
applications  to  the  judges  for  the  liberation  of  her  husband.  Sir 
Matthew  Hale,  one  of  the  justices  at  that  period,  touched  with  hu- 
mane feelings,  promised  to  do  his  best  for  her,  but  expressed  a  fear 
of  being  unable  to  grant  her  petition. 

In  1671,  the  last  year  of  his  imprisonment,  Bunyan  was  chosen 
pastor  of  the  Baptist  Church  at  Bedford,  though  it  does  not  appear 
what  opportunity  he  could  have  of  exercising  his  pastoral  office 
except  within  the  precints  of  the  jail.  His  release  from  imprison- 
ment was  effected  by  royal  authority.  The  Quakers  and  Baptists 
carrying  their  dissent  to  a  greater  extent  than  other  non-conformists, 
were  more  severely  punished,  many  of  them  being  thrown  into 
prison.  The  advisers  of  Charles  II,  having  tried  "many  and  fre- 
quent ways  of  coercion  for  reducing  all  erring  dissenting  persons," 
and  being  convinced,  by  the  sad  experience  of  twelve  years,  that 
there  was  very  little  fruit  of  all  those  forcible  courses,  wisely  coun- 
seled his  majesty  to  suspend  the  execution  of  all  penal  laws  against 
all  dissenters,  except  Catholics,  and  induced  him  to  declare  in  favor 
of  licensing  places  of  worship  for  them.  Active  measures  were 
taken  by  some  of  the  leading  Quakers  for  obtaining  the  benefit  of 
the  indulgence  for  some  hundreds  of  their  friends.  George  AVhitc- 
head,  the  foremost  among  them,  knowing  Bunyan,  advised  him  to 
petition  the  king.  The  consequence  was  that  his  name  was  inserted 
in  the  General  Pardon  granted  for  the  Quakers,  dated  September 
13th,  1672. 

A  short  time  after  his  enlargement,  he  built  a  meeting-house  at 
Bedford,  by  the  voluntary  contributions  of  his  friends ;  and  here  he 
preached,  to  large  audiences,  until   his  death.     He   used  to   go  to 

14 


16  THE    CHEISTIAN    PILGRIM. 

London  every  year,  where  he  labored  among  the  non-conformists 
with  great  acceptance.  He  likewise  made  stated  circuits  into  other 
parts  of  England,  and  animated  his  brethren  to  bear  the  cross  pa- 
tiently, to  obey  Grod  rather  than  man,  and  to  leave  all  consequences 
with  Him.  He  was,  at  the  same  time,  very  attentive  to  the  tem2:>oral 
iwants  of  those  who  suifered  for  conscience'  sake.  He  employed  his 
influence  very  successfully  in  reconciling  differences  among  profess- 
ors of  the  Grospel,  thus  preventing  disgraceful  litigations.  He  was 
very  exact  in  family  religion  and  instruction  of  his  children,  caring 
more  for  their  spiritual  than  temporal  interests. 

The  last  act  of  Banyan's  life  was  one  of  charity,  A  young  man, 
under  his  father's  displeasure,  implored  his  intercession ;  for  which 
purpose  he  journeyed  to  Reading,  in  Berkshire.  Having  succeeded 
in  his  errand,  he  was  on  his  way  back  through  London,  when  he 
stopped  at  the  house  of  his  friend  Strudwick,  on  Snow  Hill,  very 
wet  with  the  heav}^  rain  then  falling.  He  was  soon  after  seized  with 
a  fever,  which,  in  ten  days,  terminated  his  useful  life.  He  bore 
his  malady  with  great  patience  and  composure,  and  died  in  a  very 
comfortable  ano^  triumphant  manner,  August  31st,  1688,  aged  sixt}' 
years.  He  was  buried  in  Bunhill  fields,  in  London,  where  a 
tombstone  to  his  memory  is  to  be  seen. 

Bunyan  was  twice  married.  By  his  first  wife  he  had  four  children, 
one  of  which,  named  Mary,  was  blind,  and  died  before  him.  He 
was  married  to  his  second  wife  about  1658,  two  years  before  his 
imprisonment,  by  whom  he  seems  not  to  have  had  any  children; 
she  survived  him  about  four  years.  Thomas,  his  oldest  son,  became 
a  preacher  in  1692.  The  last  of  his  descendants,  of  whom  any 
record  is  found  in  Elstow,  is  Hannah  Bunyan,  his  great-grand- 
daughter,  who  died  February  15,  1770,  aged  seventy-six  years.  A 
lineal  descendant  from  Bunyan,  Mrs.  Senegar,  by  his  son  JoseiDh, 
was  living  at  Islington  in  1847,  aged  eighty-four;  and  there  was 
living  at  Lincoln,  in  1853,  an  aged  fjxrmer,  Robert  Bunyan,  a  lineal 
descendant  through  the  same  parentage. 


THE  CHRISTIAN  PILGRIM; 

AN  ALLEGORY,  CONDEXSED  FROM  THE  PILGRLM'S  PROGRESS. 


Chrhtian  flees  from  the  City  of  Destruction,  and  is  directed  hij  Evan- 
gelist  to  the  Wicket  Gate.  As  I  walked  through  the  wilderness  of 
this  world,  I  came  to  a  certain  place  where  was  a  Den ;  I  lay  down, 
and  as  I  slept,  I  dreamed,  and  behold !  I  saw  a  man  clothed  in  rags, 
standing  with  his  face  from  his  own  house,  in  the  City  of  Destruc- 
tion, with  a  book  in  his  hand,  and  a  great  burden  on  his  back.  I 
saw  him  open  the  book,  and  as  he  read  therein,  he  wept  and  trem- 
bled, crying  out,  "What  shall  I  do  to  be  saved?"  In  this  miserable 
plight  he  returned  home,  where,  imable  to  conceal  his  distress,  his 
friends  and  neighbors  thought  that  his  mind  was  disordered,  and 
some  of  them  even  ridiculed  and  reproached  him.  In  order  to 
obtain  some  relief  he  retired  from  his  companions,  and  spent  much 
of  his  time  in  reading  and  praying.  In  one  of  his  solitary  walks, 
as  he  was  bemoaning  his  condition,  he  saw  a  man  coming  toward 
him  named  Evangelist.  This  venerable  person  asked  him  "  Whij  he 
weptf  ''Because,  sir,  this  sacred  book  informs  me  that  I  am  con- 
demned to  die,  and  after  that,  brought  to  judgment."  Then  Evan- 
gelist put  a  parchment  scroll  into  his  hands,  on  which  was  written, 
'' Flee  from  the  urrath  to  come''  The  man,  after  he  had  read  these 
words,  exclaimed,  "  Whither  must  I  fly  ?"  Then  Evangelist,  point- 
ing with  his  tino-er  over  a  verv  wide  iield,  inquired  if  he  beheld  a 
wicket  gate.  The  man  said,  "'No."  Then  said  the  other,  "  Do  you 
see  yonder  shining  light?"     He  said,  "I  think  I  do."     Then  said 

(1"; 


18  THE    CHRISTIAN    PILGRIM. 

Evangelist,  "Keep  that  light   in    view,   and  you  will  find  the  gate, 
where   you  will  be  directed  what  to  do." 

Ml*.    Bunyan    -vvroto    his    "Immortal  prized    in    the    Christian    world.     The 

Allegory  "  in  Bedford  jail,  where  ho  was  person  clothed  in  rags    represents  the 

confined   several   years,   for    preaching  man  who  first  sets  out  to  be  a  Christian  ; 

the  Gospel  in  an  unauthorized  manner,  the    book   in    his  hand,   the  Bible ;  his 

He  refers  to  this  when  he  speaks  of  the  rags,    his  self-righteousness  ;    and    the 

"Den."     The   Lord    frequently    causes  burden    on    his    back,    his    distressing 

"the    wrath    of   man   to    praise  him."  sense  of  guilt ;  the  City  of  Destruction, 

Had  not  Bunyan  been  shiit  iip  in  jail,  where  he  resided,  represents  the  pres- 

it  is  not  probable  that  we  would  have  ent  evil  world.     Evangelist  is  the  true 

ever  seen  the   Pilgrim's    Progress  and  minister  of  Christ,  who  points  out  the 

other  works  which  are  now  so  highly  only  way  of  salvation. 

Christian,  Ohstinate,  and  Pliable.  Slouch  of  Despond.  After  Chris- 
tian had  been  directed  by  Evangelist,  he  began  to  run  toward  the 
light  which  he  saw  in  the  distance.  Ilis  wife,  children,  and  neigh- 
bors cried  after  him  to  return,  but  Christian,  putting  his  fingers  in 
his  ears,  ran  on,  crying  '^Lifef  Life!  eternal  lifeT  Two  of  his 
neighbors.  Obstinate  and  Pliable,  ran  after  him,  to  fetch  him  back  by 
force.  Christian  not  only  withstood  the  noisy  and  bitter  reproaches 
of  Obstinate,  who  soon  gave  up  his  purpose,  but  ho  prevailed  upon 
Pliable  to  accompany  him,  by  representing  to  him  the  glories  of 
the  Celestial  City  to  which  he  was  going.  He  told  him  that  if  faith- 
ful, they  would  have  everlasting  life  given  them ;  crowns  of  glory 
would  be  granted,  and  garments  which  would  shine  like  sun  in  the 
heavens ;  and  they  would  forever  dwell  in  perfect  happiness  and 
joy.  Pliable  was  much  elated  with  these  glorious  prospects,  and 
pressed  forward  so  fast  that  Christian  could  hardly  keep  up  with 
him.  By  and  by,  being  heedless,  they  both  fell  into  a  miry  slough, 
in  the  midst  of  the  plain,  called  the  Slouf/h  of  Despond.  This  unwel- 
come accident  so  discouraged  Pliable  that  he  struggled  out  on  the 
side  next  his  own  house,  and  turned  back  immediately.  Christian 
exerted  all  his  efforts  and  reached  the  opposite  side,  and  not  being 
able,  on  account  of  the  burden  on  his  back,  to  ascend  the  bank,  a 
person  named  Help  assisted  him  on  to  the  solid  ground. 

Eew  persons  become  truly  serious  cution  ariseth."  The  miry  place,  or 
without  some  opposition  from  irrelig-  Slough  of  Despond,  represents  that 
ious  relatives  or  neighbors;  some  of  desj^onding  state  of  mind  into  which 
these  are  obstinate,  and  despise  religion  some  convinced  sinners  and  new  con- 
altogether;  others  are  more  pliable,  and  verts  fall  at  first,  arising  from  igno- 
profess  to  be  religious  for  a  time,  but  ranee  of  the  grace  of  God  in  the  Goe- 
turn  back  "when  tribulation  or  perse-  pel. 


THE    CHllISTIAN    PILGlilM.  10 

Christian  deceived  hy  Worldhj-wiseman.  After  Christian  bad  passed 
the  slough,  he  pursued  his  onward  journey.  He  had  not  traveled 
far,  before  be  discovered  a  person  at  a  distance  crossing  over  the 
plain  to  meet  him.  The  man's  name  was  Worldhj-wiseman^  and  he 
dwelt  in  the  town  of  Carnal  Folic jj,  near  the  City  of  Destruction. 
He  was  a  very  fair-spoken  person,  and  had  very  much  the  appear- 
ance of  a  gentleman.  When  he  came  up  to  our  laboring  pilgrim, 
*' How  now,"  said  he,  "my  honest  fellow;  whither  art  thou  trudg- 
ing with  that  heavy  burden  upon  thy  back?"  "  Heavy  indeed !  sir," 
rejilied  Christian,  "  for  I  have  not  strength  enough  to  get  it  off 
myself;  but  I  am  directed,  by  the  advice  of  Evangelist,  to  the 
Wicket  Gate,  w^here  I  shall  be  shown  how  to  get  rid  of  it."  ^''  Evan- 
gelist T  replied  the  other,  "he  hath,  I  see,  already  directed  you  into 
the  Slough  of  Despond,  where  you  have  been  bemired,  and  if  you 
continue  to  follow  his  advice,  you  will  encounter  many  other  diffi- 
culties and  dangers  of  like  nature,  or  something  much  worse."  "I 
see,"  continued  he,  "  that  your  mind  has  become  disordered  by  poring 
too  much  over  that  mysterious  book  you  hold  in  your  hand.  Weak 
men,  by  meddling  with  things  too  high  for  them,  often  get  them- 
selves into  your  distracted  state  of  mind.  I  can,  however,  direct 
you  haw  you  can  get  rid  of  your  burden  easier  than  the  way  you. 
are  now  going."  Christian  then  replied,  "Do,  sir,  give  me  this 
information."  Worldly-wiseman  then  directed  him  to  a  village  near 
at  hand,  named  Moral itt/,  where  dwelt  a  very  judicious  old  gentle- 
man named  Ler/alit//,  who  had  relieved  thousands  of  their  burdens 
like  his ;  and  if  he  w^as  not  at  home,  his  son,  ]Mr.  Civilitf/,  could 
easily  supply  his  place.  In  order  to  get  to  his  house.  Christian  was 
directed  to  strike  into  a  road  which  passed  a  high  hill,  in  the 
distance. 

Worldly-wiseman  represents  the  give  the  very  best  coiinsel  to  those 
teachers  of  mere  inorality,  who  dislike  who  wish  to  serve  both  God  and  mam- 
the  doctrines  of  the  Gospel.  He  is  a  mon.  He  is  decided  in  his  judgment 
person  of  consequence,  a  reputable  and  against  all  kinds  of  religion  which  in- 
successful  man;  prudent,  sagacious,  and  terfere  with  a  man's  worldly  interests, 
acquainted  with  mankind  ;  moral  and  and  disquiets  his  mind, 
religious    in  his  way,  and  qualified  to 

Christian  at  Mount  Sinai.  As  Christian  drew  near  the  hill  (Mointt 
Sinai)  to  which  he  had  been  directed,  he  perceived  it  was  very  high 
and  craggy.  But  when  he  came  to  notice  that  side  of  it  which  lay 
near  the  road,  projected  over  it  in  a  very  dangerous  manner,  he  was 
afraid  to  venture  any  further;  also,    his  burden  seemed  heavier  to 


20 


THE    CHRISTIAN    PILGEIM 


GALATIANS, 

Chap,  ii : 
verse  16. 


ISAIAH, 

Chap.  Ixiv  : 
verse  6. 


GALATIANS, 

Chap,  iii : 
verse  10. 


ROMANS, 

Chap,  iii: 
verse  20. 


GALATIANS, 

Chap,  v: 
verse  4. 


iiGillstiaiLS  TUito  carnal  mea  gxve  ear, 
*Out of tlieirwHy^iQiiey g'o.andpayfor'J  dfar. 
For  master  worldly  -Wiseman  cauljut  fkow 


LUKE, 

Chap,  xiii; 
verse  24. 


I  CORINTH'NS, 
Chap,  is 
verse  20. 


HEBREWS, 

Chap,  xii: 
verse  29. 


ROMANS, 
Chap,  x: 
verse  4. 


TITUS, 
Chap,  iii: 
verse  5. 


"  Also  Ills  burden  now  seemed  heavier  to  him.  than  while  he  rvas  on  his  way. 
There  came  also  flashes  of  fire  out  of  the  hill,  that  made  Christian  afraid 
that  he  should  be  burned;  here  therefore  he  did  siceat  and  quake  with  fear. 
And  noio  he  began  to  be  sorry  that  he  had  taken  Mr.  Worldly -Wiseman's 
counsel.''^ 


THE    CIIJIISTIAN    PILGRIM.  21 

him  than  while  he  was  on  his  way.  There  came,  also,  flashes  of 
fire  out  of  the  hill  that  made  Christian  afraid  that  he  should  be 
burned ;  here,  therefore,  he  did  much  sweat  and  quake  with  fear. 
And  now  he  began  to  be  sorry  that  he  had  taken  Mr.  Worldly-wise- 
man's  counsel.  While  in  this  deplorable  situation  he  saw  Evcmge- 
list  coming  to  meet  him,  at  the  sight  of  whom  he  was  ready  to  sink 
-with  shame,  as  he  had  gone  contrary  to  his  directions.  This  friendly 
visitor  at  first  beheld  him  with  a  severe  countenance,  and  told  him 
he  had  been  guilty  of  folly  in  thus  beginning  to  reject  the  counsels 
of  the  Most  High,  in  withdrawing  from  the  paths  of  peace.  Chris- 
tian now  sunk  before  him  in  humility  and  self-abasement,  exclaim- 
ing, "Woe  is  me,  for  I  am  undone."  Evangelist  now  caught  him 
by  the  hand,  saying,  that  "  sin  would  be  forgiven  to  those  who  re- 
pented and  believed  the  Gospel."  He  then  proceeded  to  inform 
him  that  Mr.  Legality  was  a  formal  impostor  and  could  do  him  no 
good.  In  confirmation  of  what  he  had  said.  Evangelist  appealed  to 
the  decision  of  heaven :  upon  which  a  loud  voice  was  heard  from 
the  fiery  hill  or  mountain,  saying,  "As  many  as  are  of  the  works 
of  the  law  are  under  the  curse;  for  it  is  written.  Cursed  is  every  one 
that  continueth  not  in  all  things  written  in  the  book  of  the  Law  to 
do  them."  After  this,  Evangelist  cautioning  him  not  to  turn  aside? 
again,  Christian  resumed  his  journey. 

LegaVity,  or  that  system  which  teaches  blood  of  Christ  for  pardon  and  deliver- 

salvation  by  the  works  of  the  law,  is  an  ance.     Gospel  comfort  can  only  be  ob- 

enemy  to  the  cross  of  Christ;  it  leads  tained  until  the  soul  rejects  the  doctrine 

the   soul   astray,  and   prevents  it  from  of  Legality,  which  trusts  upon  our  own 

believing  in,  and  trusting  wholly  in  the  works  for  justification. 

Christian  arrives  at  the  Wicket  Gate.  Christian  having  regained  the 
path  which  he  had  left,  to  pass  Mount  Sinai,  he  soon  came  to  the 
wicket,  or  narrow  gate,  to  which  he  had  been  directed  by  Evange- 
list. He  found  written  over  it,  "  Knock,  and  it  shall  be  opened 
unto  you."  He  did  as  the  inscription  directed,  and  repeated  his 
knocking  several  times.  At  last  a  grave  person,  whose  name  was 
Goodwill^  came  to  the  gate,  and  after  being  informed  Avho  he  was,  and 
that  he  was  traveling  to  Mount  Zio)i,  very  readily  admittinl  him. 
But  when  Christian  was  entering,  the  other  pulled  him  forward  with 
great  seeming  violence,  which  was  a  necessary  precaution,  for  there 
was  a  strong  castle  near  the  gate,  from  whence  a  company,  under 
the  command  of  Beelzebub,  who,  with  himself,  shot  arrows  at  those 
who  came  up  to  the  gate,  so  that  they  may  kill  those  who  are  about 


22  THE    CHEISTIAN    PILGEIM. 

to  enter.  As  soon  as  Christian  had  passed  through  the  gate,  he  was 
cautioned  to  keep  on  the  narrow  way  thrown  up  by  the  Apostles, 
which  was  strait  as  a  line.  Being  anxious  to  get  rid  of  his  burden 
he  was  assured  that  when  he  came  to  the  j^lace  of  deliverance,  it 
would  fiill  of  itself.  He  was  alsa  told  to  call  at  the  house  of  the 
Interiweter,  who  would  show  him  many  excellent  things. 

The  Gate,  or  door,  represents  the  rer  rows  at   him.     The   Gate  is  narrow,  so 

ception  of  the  broken-hearted  sinner  by  that  none  can  take  their  sins  with  them, 

Christ  himself,  for  he  has  nothing  but  and  the  path  is  '^straight  as  a  line,"  in 

good  will  toward  them ;   as  one  becomes  opposition   to  the  crooked  ways  of  men, 

more  decided  in  applying  to  Christ,  so  for  it  consists   in   an  uniform  piety,  in- 

Satan,  if  permitted,  will  shoot  his   ar-  tegrity,  andesincerity. 

t 

The  Interpreter's  House — Portrait — Bustij  Boom.  Having  arrived 
at  the  Interpreter's  house.  Christian  was  received  by  the  Interpre- 
ter with  kindness  and  hospitality.  The  first  thing  shown  to  him 
was  the  portrait  of  a  venerable  person,  with  his  eyes  directed 
toward  heaven,  the  best  of  books  in  his  hand,  the  law  of  truth 
written  on  his  lips,  the  world  behind  his  back,  and  a  dazzling 
crown  of  glory  over  his  head.  This  portrait  the  Interpreter  re- 
quested Christian  to  notice,  as  it  was  a  likeness  of  the  person  who 
alone  is  authorized  to  be  his  guide  in  difficult  or  dangerous  situa- 
tions. He  was  next  conducted  into  a  large  parlor,  that  was  filled 
with  dust,  because  never  swept.  The  Interpreter  called  for  a  man 
to  sweep  it,  which,  when  he  had  begun  to  do,  the  room  was  filled 
with  a  cloud  of  dust  that  Christian  was  almost  stifled.  A  damsel, 
who  stood  by,  was  ordered  to  bring  some  water  and  sprinkle  the 
floor,  it  was  swept  and  cleansed  with  pleasure.  "  This  parlor,"  said 
the  Interpreter,  "shows  the  heart  of  an  unsanctified  man;  the  dust 
is  his  original  sin  and  inward  corruptions.  He  that  began  to  sweep 
is  the  Laiv;  she  that  brought  the  water  and  sprinkled  it  is  the 
Gospel.  The  Law  of  Works  shows  the  depravity  of  the  heart,  but 
can  not  remove  it.  The  influences  of  the  Gospel  prevents  the  risings 
of  sin,  and  the  heart  becomes  purified. 

The    Interpreter    means    the  Holy  upward  to  heaven  for  help,  and  Las  in 

Spirit,  by  whom  all  real  Christians  are  his  hand  the  Book  of  God,  by  which  he 

taught.     The  Portrait  is  a  true  picture  is  guided.     The  dusty  room  very  plain - 

of  a  gospel   minister.     He  is  one  who  ly  represents  the   unsanctified   humaiv 

has  put  the  world  behind  him ;  he  looks  heart. 

Patience  and  Passion,  Grace  Sustained.  Christian  was  next  taken 
into  a  little  room  and  directed  by  the  Interpreter  to  observe   two 


THE    CHEISTIAN    PILGEIM, 


children,  each  of  Avhom  was  sitting  in  a  chair.  The  name  of  the 
eldest  was  Passion;  the  other's  name  Patience.  Passion  was  much 
discontented,  but  Patience  was  very  quiet.  The  reason  of  Passion 
being  so  discontented  was,  that  the  governor  of  these  children 
wished  them  to  wait  for  their  best  things  until  the  beginning  of  a 
new  year.  Passion  wanted  every  thing  now,  but  Patience  was  Mail- 
ing to  wait.  Some  one  came  in  to  Passion  with  a  bag  of  treasure, 
and  poured  it  down  at  his  feet,  which  he  took  up  with  eagerness 
and  laughed  Patience  to  scorn.  But  soon  he  lavished  his  treasure 
away,  and  hath  nothing  left  but  rags.  Christian  was  now  taken 
into  an  apartment  where  there  was  a  fire  burning  against  a  wall, 
and  one  standing  by,  who  constantly  poured  water  upon  it  to  extin- 
guish the  flame,  but  it  grew  hotter  and  brighter.  "This,"  said  the 
Interpreter,  "is  the  work  of  Grace  in  the  heart;  he  that  tries  to 
put  it  out  is  Satan."  Christian  was  then  taken  to  the  other  side  of 
the  wall,  where  he  saw  a  person  secretly  couA'eying  oil  into  the  flame 
by  which  it  was  sustained.  This  represents  Christ  who  sustains  the 
flame  by  the  oil  of  his  grace. 

Passion  and  Patience  represent   car-  for  joys  to  come.     The  latter  emblem 

nal  and  spiritual  men  ;  the  former  pre-  shows    how  the  worlc  of  Grace    is  se- 

fer  to  have  their   good  things   in   this  cretly  aided  and  sustained  in  the  hu- 

life;  the  latter  live  by  faith,  and  look  man  soul. 

The  Hero  who  wins  Eternal  Glory.  The  Interpreter  now  took  Chris- 
tian to  a  pleasant  place,  where  was  built  a  stately  palace,  beautiful 
to  behold,  where  he  saw  persons  walking,  who  were  all  clothed  in 
gold.  Before  the  palace  there  stood  many  armed  men,  who  appear- 
ed determined  to  oppose  all  who  attempted  to  enter.  At  a  little  dis- 
tance from  the  entrance  sat  a  man  with  a  book,  to  take  the  names  of 
those  who  would  enter  the  palace.  Many  who  wished  to  enter,  on 
seeing  the  armed  men,  were  so  discouraged  that  they  made  no  ettbrt 
to  force  the  passage.  But,  at  length,  a  man  of  a  very  stout  counte- 
nance came  up  to  him  who  sat  to  write,  saying,  "Set  down  my  name, 
sir,"  which,  when  done,  the  man  drew  his  sword,  put  a  helmet  (»n 
his  head,  and  then  rushed  toward  the  door,  upon  the  armed  men. 
After  a  fierce  contest,  in  which  many  wounds  were  given  and  re- 
ceived, he  cut  his  way  through  them  all,  and  pressed  forward  into 
the  palace.  The  conqueror  now  heard  heavenly  voices  from  within 
and  from  those  that  walked  on  the  top  of  the  palace,  saying : 

"  Come  in.  come  in. 

Eternal  glory  thou  shalt  win." 


24  THE    CIIEISTIAX    PILGRIM. 

So  he  went  in,  "  and  was  clothed  with  such  garments  as  they."     Then 
Christian  smiled,  and  said,  "I  think  I  know  the  meaning  of  this." 

Many  desire  the  joys  and  glories  of  forces  his  way  and  presses  toward  the 
heaven,  according  to  their  carnal  ideas  mark  for  the  prize  of  his  high  calling 
of  them,  but  few  are  willing  to  fight  the  of  God  in  Christ  Jesus. — Phil,  iii,  14. 
good  fight  of  faith.  Tlie  similitude  He  is  not  content  with  a  few  lazy 
shows  the  spirit  and  disposition  of  a  wishes  or  languid  hopes;  for  the  king- 
soul  who  is  determined  to  win  Christ,  dorn  of  God  suffereth  violence,  and  the 
and  to  enjoy  the  kingdom  of  glory.  In  violent  take  it  by  force. — Matthew 
spite   of  all   opposition,    he    resolutely  xi,  12. 

The  Man  in  an  Iron  Cage.  Christian  was  next  taken  into  a  dark 
room,  where  there  sat  a  man  in  an  iron  cage,  with  his  ej^es  fixed 
on  the  ground,  his  hands  folded  together,  and  sighing  as  if  in  ex- 
treme misery.  While  he  was  viewing  this  unhappy  wretch,  he  was 
directed  by  the  Intrepreter  to  talk  with  him.  Christian  readily  com- 
plying, asked  him  who  he  was,  and  how  came  he  into  such  a  mis- 
erable condition.  "I  was  once,"  said  the  man,  "a  fair  and  flour- 
ishing professor  of  religion,  both  in  my  own  eyes  and  in  the  eyes 
of  others,  and  even  had  joy  in  the  thought  that  I  should  be  admit- 
ted into  the  heavenly  city.  But  I  am  now  a  man  of  despair,  and 
shut  up  in  it,  as  in  this  iron  cage.  I  can  not  get  out.  0  now  I  can 
not !"  In  answer  to  the  inquiry  he  continued,  "I  came  into  this  con- 
dition because  I  left  off  to  watch  and  be  sober;  indulged  in  lusts, 
pleasures,  and  profits  of  the  world.  I  have  sinned  against  the  light 
of  God's  Word,  abused  his  goodness ;  I  have  tempted  the  evil  one, 
and  he  is  come  to  me.  I  have  crucified  the  Son  of  God  afresh.  I 
have  despised  his  person  and  righteousness,  and  I  have  so  hardened 
my  heart  that  I  can  not  repent.  0,  eternity!  eternity!  how  shall  I 
grapple  with  the  misery  that  awaits  me  there!" 

Though  it  does  not  become  us  to  them  to  repentance."  "We  must,  how- 
limit  the  grace  of  God  in  cases  of  apos-  ever,  leave  the  doom  of  apparent  apos- 
tasy, yet  it  is  an  awful  fact  that  there  tates  to  God,  and  take  warning,  by  such 
have  been  cases  where  the  apostate  has  examples,  to  "shun  even  the  apj)ear- 
been  "shut  up  under  despair,"  beyond  ance  of  sin." 
relief;   and  "it  is  impossible  to   renew 

Tlie  man  who  dreamed  of  the  Last  Day.  In  the  next  apartment 
into  which  Christian  was  conducted,  he  saw  a  man  rising  hastily 
out  of  his  bed,  and  while  he  was  dressing  himself  he  shook  and 
trembled.  When  asked  why  he  was  thus  agitated,  he  replied, 
''This  night,  in  my  dream,  while  I  wa9  busy  in  my  usual  affairs, 


THE    CHKISTIAN    PILGEIM.  25 


the  heavens  grew  exceeding  dark ;  it  also  thundered  and  lightened 
in  a  fearful  manner,  which  tilled  me  with  the  utmost  terror  and 
alarm.  Looking  upward,  I  beheld  the  clouds  convulsed  at  an  un- 
usual rate;  then  came  the  sound  of  a  mighty  trumpet,  and  I  saw  also 
a  man  sit  upon  a  cloud,  attended  with  the  hosts  of  heaven.  Thou- 
sands of  flaming  spirits  were  in  attendance  to  execute  his  orders, 
and  the  heavens  were  on  iire.  I  heard  then  a  voice  as  of  the  Eter- 
nal, saying,  ''^ Arise  ye  dead  and  come  to  judgment;''^  and  behold !  in 
the  twinkling  of  an  eye,  the  rocks  were  rent  asunder,  the  mountains 
tottered  and  fell,  the  earth  rolled  and  was  agitated  like  the  waves 
of  the  sea  ;  the  graves  were  opened,  and  the  dead  that  were  therein 
came  forth.  Some  of  them  were  exceeding  glad  and  looked  up- 
ward, and  some  sought  to  hide  themselves  under  the  rocks  and 
mountains.  The  man  that  sat  upon  the  cloud  opened  a  book  and 
bade  the  world  draw  near.  They  were  judged  according  to  the 
things  written  in  the  book.  I  heard  it  also  proclaimed  by  the  man 
on  the  cloud,  "  Grather  together  the  tares,  the  chafl*  and  stubble,  and 
cast  them  into  the  burning  lake."  Upon  that  I  saw  the  bottomless 
pit  open,  and  multitudes  thrust  therein.  It  was  also  said,  "  Gather 
my  wheat  into  the  garner^  And  with  that  I  saw  many  taken  up  and 
carried  away  into  the  clouds,  but  I  was  left  behind.  I  sought  to 
hide  myself,  but  could  not ;  the  all-seeing  eye  of  him  on  the  cloud 
was  still  upon  me,  with  indignation  in  his  countenance,  and  my 
sins  came  in  my  mind,  and  conscience  accused  me  on  every  side. 
Upon  this,  I  awakened  from  sleep." 

The  Interpreter's  curiosities,  or  etn-  tion  of  hope  and  fear;  when  devoid  of 

blems,  shown  to  Christian,  are  the  prin-  hope,  we  resemble   a  ship  without  an 

cipal  subjects  which  faithful  ministei'S  anchor;  when  unrestrained  by  fear,  we 

enforce,  publicly  and  in  private,  on  all  are  like  the  same  vessel  under  full  sail, 

who  begin  to  profess  the  Gospel.     The  without  ballast,  floundering  at  the  mer- 

safety  of  all  consists  in  a  due  propor-  cy  of  the  waves. 

Christian's  burden  falls  at  the  Cross.  After  the  Interpreter  had 
charged  Christian  to  keep  all  the  things  he  had  seen  and  heard  in 
remembrance,  he  addressed  himself  to  his  onward  journey,  saying : 

"Here  I  have  seen  things  rare  and  profitable  ; 
Things  pleasant,  dreadful, things  to  make  me  stable 
In  what  I  have  begun  to  take  in  hand; 
Then  let  me  think" on  them  and  understand 
Wherefore  they  shewed  me  were;  and  let  me  be 
Thankful,  O,  good  Interpreter,  to  thee." 


26  THE    CHEISTIAN    PILGEIM. 

The  road  which  he  traveled  was  fenced  on  both  sides  with  a  high 
and  substantial  wall,  called  Salvation,  so  that  he  went  forward  with 
a  cheerful  heart,  though  at  the  same  time  with  some  difficuhy,  on 
account  of  the  burden  on  his  back.  But  when  he  came  in  sight  of 
an  elevated  cross,  which  stood  on  a  hill,  his  burden,  which  had  so 
long  pressed  upon  him,  was  loosed,  and  fell  from  his  back.  It  con- 
tinued rolling  down  the  hill  until  it  came  to  the  bottom,  where  there 
was  a  sepulcher,  into  which  it  fell,  and  was  seen  no  more.  The  joy 
and  astonishment  of  Christian  at  this  great  deliverance  was  so  great, 
that  he  was  lost  in  wonder,  and  when  he  came  to  himself  and  found 
it  was  no  illusion,  but  that  his  burden  was  gone,  he  burst  into  tears 
of  joy,  and  his  mouth  was  filled  with  praise.  While  he  stood  look- 
ing and  weeping,  three  shining  angels  appeared  before  him  ;  one  said 
to  him,  "Peace  be  to  thee;  thy  sins  be  forgiven  thee."  The  second 
stripped  him  of  his  rags,  and  clothed  him  with  a  beautiful  gar- 
ment; the  third  set  a  mark  upon  his  forehead  and  gave  him  a  roll 
with  a  seal  upon  it,  which  he  bade  him  look  upon  it  as  he  ran, 
and  that  he  should  deliver  it  when  he  arrived  at  the  Celestial  Gate, 
and  it  would  instantly  procure  him  admittance  into  the  Heavenly  City. 

Thus  far  the  Christian   Pilgrim    car-  "shining  one8"»8uddenly  appeared  and 

I'ied  with  him  the  burdensome  sense  of  gave  him    a  beautiful    garment,  which 

his  guilt    and   condemnation,  but   now  signifies    the   righteousness    of  Christ, 

by  faith  he  sees  the  Redeemer's  Cross,  set  a  mark  upon  him  showing  that  he 

the    motive    and    efficacy    of   Christ's  was  the  Lord's,    and    gave  him  a  roll 

sufferings;  he  is    relieved   of  his  bur-  with  a  seal  upon  it  denoting  the  assur- 

den,    and   is  filled  with  joy  and  peace  ance  of  salvation, 
in  believing.     While  at  the  Cross  three 

Simple,  Sloth,  and  Presumjjtion.  After  Christian  had  experienced 
his  great  deliverance  at  the  Cross,  he  pressed  forward  on  his  jour- 
ney. Arriving  at  the  bottom  of  the  hill,  he  saw,  a  little  out  of  the 
way,  three  men,  fast  asleep,  with  fetters  upon  their  feet.  Their 
names  were  Simple  or  Stupidity,  Sloth,  and  Presiimption.  Being  of  a 
compassionate  disposition.  Christian  endeavored  to  awaken  them, 
telling  them  that  they  were  like  those  that  slept  on  the  top  of  a 
mast,  and  liable  every  moment  to  fall  into  the  sea.  Just  opening 
their  eyes.  Stupidity  said,  "I  see  no  danger;"  Sloth  said,  "Yet  a  little 
more  sleep;"  and  Presumption  said,  "Every  tub  must  stand  on  its 
own  bottom."     After  having  said  this,  they  fell  asleep  again. 

Many  who  have  transient  convictions  chained  in  bondage,  to  sin  and  Satan, 
learn  to  talk  about  religion,  but  still  are    They    reject    instruction   and  hate    all 


THE    CHEISTIAN    PILGEIM.  27 

trouble,  and  are  coutident  that  it  is  all  we  will  not  be  disturbed,  and  there  is 

well  with  themselves.  They  say  to  them  no  necessity  for  making  so   much    ado 

who   warn  them   of  their  peril,  "Mind  about   religion."     Thus    they  sleep  on 

your  own  business;    we  see  no  danger;  until  death  and  judgment  awake  them. 

Formalist  and  Hypocrisy.  Traveling  a  little  further,  Christian  saw- 
two  men  tiimljliiig  over  the  wall,  on  the  left  hand  of  the  narrow 
way.  They  were  Formality  and  Hypocrisy,  who  were  born  in  the 
land  of  Vainglory.  When  Christian  had  overtaken  them,  he  expos- 
tulated with  them  on  the  impropriety  of  their  not  coming  in  at  the 
gate,  where  all  were  directed  to  come,  and  told  them  that  to  steal 
into  the  road,  as  they  had  done,  was  unlawful.  To  this  they  replied 
that  the  way  they  had  taken  was  the  shortest ;  that  what  they  had 
done  was  no  more  than  thousands  had  done  before  them,  and  as 
they  were  in  the  way,  it  was  sufficient,  no  matter  how  they  got  there. 
They  also  told  Christian  they  did  not  see  what  he  had  gained  by 
coming  in  at  the  gtite,  except  the  whimsical  garment  which  had 
been  given  him  to  cover  his  nakedness.  In  a  short  time  the  three 
travelers  came  to  a  steep  and  high  hill  called  Difficulty.  As  this 
was  difficult  to  ascend.  Formality  and  Hypocrisy  discovered  two 
other  roads  which  passed  by  the  side  of  the  hill,  which  were  much 
easier  to  travel;  they  concluded  to  pass  over  them.  The  name  of 
one  of  tliGce  roads  was  Danger  the  other  Destruction.  He  that  took 
the  road  Danger  was  led  into  a  pathless  wilderness ;  the  other,  who 
took  the  path  of  Destruction,  was  soon  lost  in  a  desert  full  of  darlL 
places,  where  he  stumbled  and  fell,  and  rose  no  more. 

Formalist  and  Hypocrisy  are  near  re-  the  form  of  godliness,  neither  cTioosing 

lations  ;  the  first  represents  those  who,  to  walk  in  the  way  of  self-denial.   When 

by  their    notions  and  observances,   de-  difficulties  and    persecutions    arise,  in 

ceivG    themselves;    the    second,    those  order  to  secure  their  worldly  interests, 

who   moi'o   grossly   attempt  to  impose  they  take  some  other  path  than  the  right 

upon    others.     Both    are  satisfied  with  one,  and  thus  involve  themselves  in  ruin. 

The  Hill  Difficulty — Christian  loses  his  Foil.  Christian,  after  re- 
freshing himself  at  the  spring,  at  the  foot  of  Mount  Difficulty,  began 
to  go  up  the  hill,  saying : 

"The  hill,  though  high,  I  covet  to  ascend, 
The  difficulty  will  not  mo  oftcnd; 
Come,  pluck  up  heart,  let 's  neither  faint  nor  fear, 
For,  I  perceive,  the  way  of  life  lies  here; 
Better,  though  difficult,  the  right  way  to  go, 
Than  wrong,  though  easy,  where  the  end  is  woe." 

Christian  at  first  went  up  rapidly,  but  was  soon  forced  to  fall  from 


28 


THE    CHEISTIAN   PILGRIM. 


MATTHEW, 

Chap,  vii: 
verse  I  . 


PSALM 

xvii  : 

verse  12. 


PSALM 

xxii: 

verse  2\. 


LUKE, 

Chap,  xii: 
verse  4. 


DANIEL, 
Chap,  vi : 
verse  27. 


ifiificiatiri^iiindlF,^isi3^fot^ 

irhoiishHes  Sp6i^biitUeKill,the lions  ro aS 
^  Cbtistiau  man  is  n^ver^long'  at  easej^ 


JOHN, 

Chap,  x: 
verses  3, ' 


FSALM 

xxiii: 
verse  5. 


PROVERBS, 

Chap,  xiv: 
verses  8,  I5r 


PSALM 

xxvii : 

verse  4. 


PSALM 
Ixxxiv: 
verse  I. 


"  IVoiv,  before  he  had  gone  far,  he  entered  into  a  very  narrow  passage,  which 
icas  about  a  furlong  off  of  the  Porter's  Lodge;  and  looking  very  narrowly  be- 
fore him  as  he  went,  he  espied  two  lions  in  the  way.  Then  he  teas  afraid. 
But  the  Porter,  whose  name  is  Watchful,  cried  unto  him,  saying,  Fear  not  the 
Lions,  for  they  are  chained.'" 


THE    CHEISTIAN    PILGEIM.  29 

running  to  going,  and  from  going  to  climbing  on  his  hands  and 
knees.  When  he  had  gained  about  half  the  ascent,  he  came  to  a 
pleasant  arhor^  made  by  the  Lord  of  the  Hill,  for  the  refreshment 
of  weary  travelers.  In  this  agreeable  reces  Christian  sat  down  to 
rest  him-^elf,  and  pulling  the  roll  out  of  his  bosom,  read  in  it,  with 
great  pleasure,  for  a  considerable  time.  But,  at  last,  not  being  suf- 
ficiently on  his  guard,  he  fell  into  a  deep  sleep,  until  near  night,  and 
in  his  sleep  his  roll  fell  out  of  his  hand.  He  was  at  length  awakened 
by  some  one  saying  in  his  ear,  "Go  to  the  ant,  thou  sluggard,  and 
be  wise."  This  started  him  suddenly  up,  and  he  made  the  best  of 
his  way  to  the  top  of  the  hill,  without  once  thinking  of  his  roll. 

When  he  had  gained  the  summit  he  saw  two  men,  Midrust  and 
Timorous,  running  to  meet  him,  in  great  terror,  as  if  pui'sued  by  an 
enemy.  As  soon  as  they  came  near,  Christian  asked  them  what 
was  the  mitter?  "The  lions!  the  lions  !"  said  they.  "A^'cMere 
going  to  the  Celestial  City,  but  the  road  is  full  of  danger,  and  the 
further  we  go  the  worse  it  is."  Without  waiting  for  a  reply,  fearing 
the  lions  were  after  them,  they  ran  down  the  hill.  Christian,  though 
afraid,  resolved  to  go  forward.  Wishing  to  comfort  himself  by  read- 
ing his  roll,  he  felt  in  his  bosom,  but  it  was  gone.  He  was  now  in 
great  distress,  for  it  was  his  pass  to  get  into  the  Celestial  City.  As 
he  was  bemoaning  himself  in  his  sad  condition,  he  thought  he  might 
possibly  left  it  in  the  arbor.  Going  carefully  back,  he  looked  on  both 
sides  of  the  road  until  he  arrived  at  the  arbor,  where,  to  his  great 
joy,  ho  found  the  precious  treasure. 

The   Hill  Difficulty  represents  those  become  nnwatchful  and  drowsy,  and  for 

seasons   and    situations   in    life,    which  a  time  even  lose  the  evidence  of  his  ac- 

require  peculiar  self-denial  and  exertion,  ceptance  with  God.     Mistrust  and  Tim- 

which  test  the  Christian's  sincerity  af-  orous  are  ci'cat  enemies  of  the  Christian 

ter  he  has  commenced  his  religious  life,  faith,  and    bring  up  an    evil  report  of 

If  his  trials  be   moderated,  or  if  he  re-  the  way  of  salvation.     The  true  Chris- 

ceives  an  abundance  of  consolations,  it  tian,    however,     presses    forward,    and 

is   possible   that   he   may  presume  too  Boon  experiences  a  sense  of  divine  lavor, 

much  on  what  he  has  received ;  he  may  which  for  a  time  he  had  apparently  lost. 

Chnsfian  admitted  into  the  Beautiful  Palace.  Christian,  having  re- 
sumed his  journey,  came,  about  the  dusk  of  the  evening,  in  sight  of 
a  stately  palace,  just  by  the  wayside,  named  Beautiful.  Ts'ow,  be- 
fore he  had  gone  far,  he  entered  into  a  very  narrow  passage,  which 
was  about  a  furlong  off  from  the  Porter's  lodge ;  and  looking  very 
narrowly  before  him  as  he  went,  he  espied  two  lions  in  the  way. 
Then  he  was  afraid  to  go  further,  for  it  seemed  death  was  before 


30  THE    CHRISTIAN    PILGRIM. 

him.  But  the  porter,  whose  name  is  Watchful^  seeing  Christian 
make  a  halt,  as  if  he  was  going  back,  cried  unto  him,  sa3dng,  "Fear 
not  the  Lions,  for  they  are  chained,"  and  if  he  kept  in  the  path  he 
would  receive  no  harm.  Christian  then  ventured  forward  with 
trembling,  and  though  the  lions  roared  loudly  they  did  not  touch 
him.  Having  arrived  at  the  gate  before  which  the  Porter  was 
standing,  he  inquired  to  whom  the  building  belonged,  and  whether 
he  might  lodge  there  until  the  next  morning.  The  Porter  answered 
that  the  palace  was  built  by  the  Lord  of  tlie  hill  for  the  relief  and 
security  of  Pilgrims.  He  then  proposed  several  necessary  questions 
concerning  the  character  and  business  of  his  new  visitor,  to  all  of 
which  Christian  returned  satisfactory  answers,  and  was,  thereupon 
admitted  into  the  palace. 

The  Palace  Beautiful,  and  the  privi-  and  acquaintances,  often  made  to  those 

leges   in   it,    is    designed  to    show   the  wlao   wish    to    entei*    into   a  Christian 

benefit  of  being  admitted  into  the  visi-  Church.     Watchful,  the  Porter,  shows 

ble  Christian  Church.     The  lions  in  the  that  proper  caution  should  be  exercised 

way  represent  the  oj^position  of  friends  in  their  admission. 

Christian  entertained  hy  Prudence,  Piety,  and  Charity.  Being  ad- 
mitted w^ithin  the  gate,  Christian  was  affectionately  received  into 
the  family  of  Prudence,  Piety,  and  Charity.  He  was  most  hospit- 
ably entertained  by  these  heavenly  women,  who  renewed  the  inqui- 
ries concerning  the  motives  of  his  journey,  and  the  remarkable  oc- 
currences which  had  attended  it.  They  were  so  much  pleased  with 
the  account  he  gave  them,  that  they  conceived  a  very  high  esteem 
for  him,  and  afterward  conversed  with  him  in  as  friendly  and  un- 
reserved a  manner  as  if  they  had  been  acquainted  with  him  for 
many  years.  But  Charity,  the  most  lovely  of  them  all,  inquired  if 
he  was  a  married  man  or  a  single  one;  and  being  informed  that  he 
had  a  wife  and  four  small  children,  tenderly  inquired,  "Why  did 
you  not  bring  them  along  with  3'ou?"  Christian,  at  this,  wept,  and 
said,  "Oh,  how  willingly  would  I  have  done  it!"  but  they  were 
utterly  unwilling  to  go  with  him.  Whether  it  was  owing  to  the 
bad  example,  and  more  prevailing  influence  of  his  neighbors,  was 
unknown,  but  all  his  entreaties  were  in  vain.  While  they  were  dis- 
coursing together,  the  supper  was  made  ready.  It  was  indeed  a 
"feast  of  fat  things,  and  with  wine-that  was  well  refined."  All  the 
talk  at  the  table  was  about  the  Lord  of  the  Hill,  what  he  had  done 
for  them,  and  why  he  did  it.  It  also  appeared  that  their  Lord  had 
been  a  great  warrior,  and  had  fought  with  and  had  slain  him  that 


THE    CHRISTIAN"    PILGPvIM. 


had  the  power  of  death ;  they  also  dwelt  much  on  the  sufferings  of 
their  Lord,  and  the  shedding  of  his  own  blood  for  their  defense. 
Thus  they  discoursed  together  until  a  late  hour,  when  Christian  was 
conducted  to  a  large  upj^er  chamber,  called  Peace,  where  he  reposed 
on  a  bed  of  down  until  morning. 

The  admission  of  Christian   into  the  blematically  set  forth,  where  Christians, 

palace,  with  the  kind   recej)tion   given  by  faith,  feed  on  Christ,  and  call  to  rc- 

hira,   and    the    profitable    conversation  niembrance  his  sufferings  and  the  shed- 

which  ensued,  shows  the   advantage  of  ding    of  his  blood    for  their  salvation, 

communion  of  Saints.     The  administra-  Peace  of  conscience  follows  these  nian- 

tion  of  the  Lord's   Suj)per   is  also  em-  ifestations. 

The  Rarities,  or  Museum.  In  the  morning,  after  some  conversation, 
his  hostesses  would  not  let  Christian  depart  until  they  had  shown 
him  the  varieties  or  curiosities  of  the  place.  They  first  took  him 
into  the  study,  where  they  showed  him  records  of  the  greatest  an- 
tiquity. They  showed  him  first  the  pedigree  of  the  Lord  of  the 
Hill,  that  he  was  the  Son  of  the  Ancient  of  Days,  and  that  he  was  be- 
fore all  things.  Here  was  recorded  the  acts  that  he  had  done,  and  the 
names  of  many  hundreds  which  he  had  taken  into  his  service ;  what 
they  had  done,  how  they  had  subdued  kingdoms,  stopped  the  mouths 
of  lions,  quenched  the  violence  of  tire,  out  of  weakness  were  made 
strong,  and  how  they  had  put  to  flight  armies  of  aliens.  In  another 
part  of  the  house  it  was  shown  by  the  Records  how  willing  their 
Lord  was  to  receive  all  transgressors  into  his  favor.  The  next  day 
they  took  him  into  the  Armory,  where  he  was  shown  all  manner 
of  weap(ms  and  defenses,  furnished  by  the  Lord  of  the  Hill  for  the 
use  of  Pilgrims.  They  also,  with  other  things,  showed  him  the 
victorious  rod  of  Moses,  the  hammer  and  nail  with  which  Jael  slew 
Sisera ;  also,  the  pitchers,  trumpets,  and  lamps  with  which  Gideon 
put  to  flight  the  armies  of  Midian,  the  sling  and  stone  with  which 
David  slew  Goliah,  and  the  sword  by  which  the  Lord  will  kill  the 
man  of  sin. 


Contemplation  on  the  things  of  old,    soul  in  cinulating  the  il 
recorded  in  the  "Word  of  (iod,  tends  to    pies  there  exhibited,  an 


illustrious  exam 
.^^v^.^^^...   1,11^   T.uivxui  v.vw,  L^;..ii.^  t<^     ^..^o  ,,..v.v.  .-.....,..--,  and  to  furnisli  in- 
increase  the  ftiith,  hope,  love,  and  pa-    structions    for    every   good    word   and 
tience  of  Christians;  and  animates  the    work. 


The  Delectable  Mountains — Christian  armed  for  his  journey.     When 
Christian   was  about  to  pursue   his  journey,  his  kind   entertainers 
took  him  up  to  the  top  of  the  palace,   and   bid   him   look   south; 
16 


32  THE    CHRISTIAN    PILGKIM, 


which  he  did,  and  at  a  great  distance  he  saw  a  most  pleasant 
mountainous  country,  beautiful  with  v.'oods,  vineyards,  fruits  of  all 
sorts;  of  flowers,  also,  with  springs,  fountains,  and  every  thing  de- 
sirable to  behold.  This,  they  told  him,  was  ImmamieV s  Land,  which 
was  intended  for  a  resting-place  for  Pilgrims,  and  when  he  arrived 
there  he  could  almost,  if  not  quite,  discern  the  Gate  of  the  Celes- 
tial City.  Christian  was  now  most  anxious  to  go  forward  on  his 
journey,  but  his  kind  hostesses,  before  he  started,  took  him  again  into 
the  Armory,  where  they  harnessed  him  from  head  to  foot.  On  his 
head  they  put  the  Helmet  of  Salvation,  his  feet  were  shod  Avith  the 
preparation  of  the  Gospel  of  Peace ;  in  his  hand  was  the  Sword  of 
the  Spirit,  while  over  all  was  held  the  Shield  of  Faith.  Then  he 
began  to  go  forward,  but  his  friends  would  accompany  him  dow^n  to 
the  foot  of  the  hill,  as  it  was  somewhat  dangerous  in  going  down. 

The  Delectable  Mountains,  as  seen  precepts.  The  Christian's  armor  is  de- 
from  a  distance,  represent  those  distinct  scribed  in  Eph.  vi:  13,  etc.  It  is  some- 
views  of  the  privileges  and  consolations  times  hard,  after  having  been  favored 
with  which  Christians  are  sometimes  with  peculiar  blessings,  to  go  down  into 
favored,  while  attending  on  the  ordi-  the  Valley  of  Humiliation  without  slip- 
nances  of  the    G-ospel,  or    obeying  its  ping  into  murmuring  and  discontent. 

Christian  meets  Apollyon.  Christian  having  passed  into  the  Valley 
of  Humiliation,  he  soon  espied  a  foul  demon  coming  over  the  field 
to  meet  him,  whose  nanue  was  Apollyon.  Christian  now  began  to 
be  afraid,  and  to  cast  in  his  mind  whether  to  go  back  or  stand  his 
ground.  But  considering  he  had  no  armor  for  his  back,  he  con- 
cluded it  would  be  safer  to  stand.  So  he  went  on,  and  Apollyon  met 
him.  Now  this  monster  was  Mdeous  to  behold ;  he  had  scales  like 
a  fish,  wings  like  a  dragon,  feet  like  a  bear,  and  out  of  his  bowels 
came  fire  and  smoke.  Disdainfully  beholding  Christian,  he  fiercely 
asked  him  whence  he  came,  and  where  he  was  going.  Christian 
replied  that  he  came  from  the  Citij  of  Destruction  and  was  traveling 
to  the  Celestial  City.  "Indeed!"  said  Apollyon ;  "then  it  is  plain 
you  are  one  of  my  subjects ;  for  all  that  country  is  mine,  and  I  am 
the  Lord  of  it,  and  were  it  not  that  I  hope  you  will  return  to  your 
allegiance,  I  would  strike  you  to  the  ground.  Come,  now,  and  return, 
and  I  will  give  you  every  encouragement  my  kingdom  will  afford." 
"I  despise  both  your  service  and  wages,"  answered  Christian,  "and 
iiave  engaged  myself  to  the  Prince  of  Glory,  whose  service  I  like 
1:)etter  than  yours."  Apollyon  now  told  him  how  many  of  the 
Prince's  servants  had  come  to  a  bad  end ;  how  he  vrould  not  protect 


THE    CHRISTIAN    PILGRIM.  33 


them  when  thej  got  into  danger.  Besides  this,  Apollyon  tokl  him 
how  unfaithful  lie  had  been  to  his  new  master,  how  he  had  blun- 
dered into  the  filthy  Slough  of  Despond.  Think  how  sinfully  he  slept 
and  lost  his  Roll,  how  he  was  shamefully  terrified  by  a  couple  of 
superannuated  old  lions  who  were  chained  to  the  ground,  and  like  a 
coward  thought  of  going  back ;  and  to  sum  up  his  whole  character, 
he  was  one  who  had  no  higher  motive  than  to  gain  the  applause  of 
fools  like  himself. 

The   Valley  of  Humiliation,   in  which  the  work  of  destruction,  fallen  angels 

Christian  met  his  great  foe,  may  signify  endeavored,   b}'  various    ways,  to  turn 

Bome  great  depression   in  a  Christian's  men  from  the  path  of  duty.     The  genu- 

outward    circumstances,   of  which  the  inc  Christian  sees  no   safety  except    in 

enemy  takes  advantage.     Apoll3'on  sig-  facing  his  enemy,  for  he  has  no  armor 

nifies  the  destroyer,  and  in  carrying   on  for  his  back. 

Christian  figJds  Apollyon.  When  Apollyon  reproached  Christian 
for  his  cowardice  and  short-comings  in  duty.  Christian  replied  that 
it  was  all  true,  but  his  infirmities  he  brought  with  him  out  of  his 
country ;  but  he  was  now  sorry  for  them,  and  obtained  pardon  for 
them  from  his  Prince.  Apollyon,  upon  this,  broke  out  into  a  great 
rage,  saying,  "  I  am  an  enemy  to  this  Prince ;  I  hate  his  person,  his 
laws,  and  people,  and  I  am  come  out  to  stop  you."  Christian  then 
told  him  to  beware  what  he  did,  for  he  was  in  the  king's  highway. 
Apollyon  then  fiercely  strode  over  the  whole  width  of  the  road, 
swearing  by  his  infernal  den  that  he  should  go  no  further,  and  that 
there  he  would  spill  his  soul.  He  then  threw  a  flaming  dart  at 
Christian's  breast,  which  he  warded  off^  by  his  shield.  He  now  saw 
it  was  time  for  him  to  bestir  himself,  for  Apollyon  threw  his  burn- 
ing darts  like  hail  at  him,  by  which  Christian,  notwithstanding  all 
his  care  to  avoid  it,  was  wounded  in  his  head,  his  hand,  and  foot. 
This  made  Christian  give  a  little  back,  for  he  began  to  grow  weaker. 
Apollyon,  per(!eiving  this,  began  to  close  upon  him,  and  after  a 
dreadful  struggle,  threw  Christian  to  the  ground,  and  caused  his 
sword  to  fly  out  of  his  hand.  Then  said  the  demon,  "I  am  sure  of 
thee  now."  But  as  God  would  have  it,  while  Apollyon  was  fetch- 
ing his  last  blow,  thereby  to  make  a  full  end  of  this  good  man, 
Christian  nimbly  reached  out  his  hand  for  his  sword,  and  caught  it, 
saying,  ^'•Rejoice  not  against  me,  0  mine  enemg!  ivhen  I  fall  1  shall 
arise;''  and  with  that  gave  him  a  deadly  thrust,  which  made  him 
give  back,  as  one  that  had  received  his  mortal  wound.  Christian 
then  made  at  him  again,    but  Apollyon   spread   forth   his   dragon 


31 


THE    CHRISTIAN    PILGRIM. 


I  PETER, 
Chap,  v: 
verse  8. 


EPHESIANS, 

Chap,  vi : 
verse  II. 


I  TIMOTHY, 
Chap,  vi : 
verse  12. 


I  CORINTHI'NS, 
Chap,  ix: 
verse  26. 


2  CORINTHI'NS, 

Chap,  x: 

verse  4. 


jAmoreimequalmatch^caiili^raiy  oe? 

m^hnstiaitviaii^iv^i  aaAng^el-.Tjut  yoii  see,^ 
E  The  Valiant  inauljyJiandlius'  SwotdJfc  Shields 


JAMES, 
Chap,  iv: 
verse  7. 


HEBREWS, 

Chap,  xi : 

verse  34. 


I  TIMOTHY, 

Chap,  xi: 
verse  3. 


REVELATIONS, 

Chap,  xxi : 

verse  7. 


I  CORINTHI'NS^ 
Chap.  XV : 
verse  57. 


"  But  as  God  would  have  it,  while  Apollyon  was  fetching  of  his  last  bloii\ 
thereby  to  make  a  full  end  of  this  good  man,  Christian  nimbly  reached  out  his 
hand  for  his  sword,  and  caught  it,  saying,  "Bejoice  not  against  me,  0  my 
enemy!  ichen  I  fall  T  shall  arise,''  and  with  that  gave  him  a  deadly  thrust, 
which  made  him  give  back  as  one  that  had  received  his  mortal  wound.'" 


THE    CHEISTIAN   PILGKIM.  35 

wings,  and  lie  saw  him  no  more.     Christian,  upon  this,  gave  thanks 
for  his  great  deliverance,  saying: 

"Great  Beelzebub,  the  captain  of  the  fiend, 
Pesigned  my  ruin;  therefoi*e  to  this  end, 
He  sent  him  harness'd  out;   and  ho  with  rage 
That  hellish  was,  did  fiercely  me  engage! 
But  blessed  Michael  helped  me,  and  I, 
By  dint  of  sword,  did  quickly  make  him  fly; 
Therefore  to  him  let  me  give  lasting  praise 
And  thanks,  and  bless  his  holy  name  always." 

The  fight  between  Christian  and  he  passed,  in  the  earlier  part  of  his 
Apollyon  denotes  those  severe  trials  Christian  course.  Satan  is  indeed  the 
and  temptations  which  the  children  of  accuser  of  the  brethi*en;  but  by  hum- 
God  experience  from  Satan,  the  enemy  bliivg  ourselves  and  pleading  the  merits 
of  their  souls,  and  it  is  thought,  by  and  grace  of  Christ,  we  can  successfully 
Bome  commentators,  that  Mr.  Bunyan,  meet  all  his  accusations,  and  by  using 
the  author  of  the  Pilgrim's  Progress,  the  Shield  of  Faith  and  the  Sword  of 
here  describes  conflicts  through  which  the  Spirit,  we  will  come  off  conquerors. 

Valleif  of  the  Shadow  of  Death.  When  Christian  came  to  the  end 
of  the  Valley  of  Humiliation,  he  found  himself  at  the  entrance  of 
another,  Avhere  he  met  a  couple  of  men,  who  were  returning  from 
it  in  a  violent  hurry,  with  marks  of  terror  in  their  countenances. 
Upon  his  inquiring  the  reason,  they  informed  him  that  the  valley 
before  him  was  called  the  Valleij  of  the  Shadoiv  of  Death,  which  was 
of  pitchy  darkness,  where  they  beheld  more  fearful  sights,  and  heard 
more  doleful  noises  than  they  had  ever  met  with  before,  and  they 
thought  themselves  happy  in  escaping  from  such  a  place.  Christian, 
however,  observing  that  the  high  road  led  directly  through  the  place, 
determined  to  go  forward.  As  far  as  the  valley  reached  there  was 
on  the  right  hand  a  very  deep  ditch,  into  which  the  blind  have  led 
the  blind,  in  all  ages,  and  where  both  have  miserably  perished.  On 
the  left  there  was  a  very  dangerous  quagmire,  into  which  king  Da- 
vid once  fell,  and  would  have  been  smothered,  had  he  not  been 
pulled  out.  The  pathway  here  is  so  exceeding  narrow,  that  when 
one  w^ould  avoid  the  dangers  of  one  side,  he  wotdd  be  apt  to  fall 
into  the  other ;  besides  these  dangers,  the  pathway  was  so  covered 
with  darkness  that  when  he  woidd  go  forward  he  hardly  knew  where 
to  set  his  foot. 

About  the  middle  of  the  valley,  he  perceived  the  mouth  of  Hell, 
from  whence  issued  volumes  of  fire  and  smoke,  accompanied  with 
hideous  and  dolefid  noises,  so  that  he  was  forced  to  cry  out  in  terror, 


36  THE    CHUISTIAN    PILGRIM. 

"  0  Lord,  I  beseech  thee  deliver  my  soul^  In  this  forlorn  manner  lie 
was  obliged  to  travel  several  miles,  and  coming  to  a  place,  he  heard 
a  company  oi  fiends  approaching,  and  when  it  seemed  they  were 
within  a  few  yards  Christian  cried  out,  in  a  most  vehement  voice, 
"/  will  ivalk  in  the  strength  of  the  Lord  God,"  when  these  demons 
gave  back  and  came  no  further.  In  this  perilous  passage,  Christian 
at  times  was  so  disordered  in  his  mind  that  he  did  not  know  his 
own  voice.  Just  as  he  got  against  the  mouth  of  the  burning  pit, 
one  of  the  wicked  ones  came  behind  him,  and  stepping  up  softly  and 
whispering,  suggested  many  grievous  blasphemies,  which  he  verily 
thought  proceeded  from  his  own  mind.  While  Christian  was  trav- 
eling in  this  disconsolate  manner,  he  thought  he  heard  the  voice  of 
a  man  going  before  him,  saying,  "  Though  I  ximlk  through  the  Valley 
of  the  Shadow  of  Death,  I  will  fear  no  evil,  for  thou  art  with  me.''  This 
gave  him  some  comfort.  After  awhile  the  day  broke ;  he  then  had 
a  more  distinct  view  of  the  dangers  he  had  escaped.  He  also  saw 
what  a  mercy  it  was  to  have  the  light  of  the  sun  in  passing  through 
the  second  part  of  the  valley,  which,  if  possible,  was  more  dangerous 
than  the  other,  for  it  was  thickly  set  with  snares,  traps,  nets,  and  pit- 
falls, so  that  one  could  hardly  escape  without  having  the  light  to 
guide  his  footsteps. 

The  Yalley  of  the  Shadow  of  Death  sins  and  wickedness,   which  many  fall 

eeems  to  represent  a  time  of  great  dis-  into.     Many   conscientious   persons,  at 

couragemcnt  and  distress  of  mind,  aris-  times,  have  suddenly  suggested  to  their 

ing  from  various  causes.     The  ditch  on  minds    Llasphemous    thoughts,    which 

the  right  hand  may  represent  error  in  they  abhor,  and  are  much  troubled,  for 

principle,  into  which  fivU  the   blind  (as  they   hardly  know  from   whence    they 

to  spiritual  truths  blind  guides).     The  come, 
ditcli  on   the  left   may  mean    outward 

Christian  passes  the  Giant's  Cave  and  overtakes  Faithful.  Christian 
having  passed  safely  through  the  valley,  came  to  a  kind  of  cave, 
where  two  Giants  had  dwelt  for  a  long  time,  whose  names  were 
Pagan  and  Pope.  Around  their  habitations  were  seen  the  mangled 
bodies  and  bones  of  men,  some  of  whom  were  Pilgrims,  who  had 
gone  this  way.  Of  late  years,  these  Giants,  by  age  and  other  in- 
firmities, had  grown  so  enfeebled  that  Pilgrims  passed  by  them 
with  little  or  no  apprehension.  After  Christian  had  gone  by  this 
once  dangerous  spot,  he  came  to  a  gentle  eminence,  from  which  he 
discovered  Faithful  before  him  upon  his  journey.  As  soon  as  he 
came  within  call,  he  cried  out  to  him  to  stop.     Faithful,   not  know- 


THE    CHEISTIAN    PILGKIM. 


ing  who  he  was,  kept  on  without  stopping.  Christian,  somewhat 
nettled  at  this,  exerted  all  his  strength  and  ran  by  him.  But 
while  he  was  smiling  in  a  rather  vainglorious  manner,  because  he 
had  got  the  start  of  his  brother,  he  stumbled  and  fell,  and  could  not 
rise  until  Faithful  came  to  his  assistance.  After  this  they  went 
on  lovingly  together. 

The  bloody  remains    and    the   bones  us  beware  of  vainglory  in  thinking  we 

of  Pilgrims  at  the  Caves  of  the  Giants,  have  got  the  start  of    our  brother  in 

show  the    bloody  persecutions  and  re-  the  heavenly  race.     There  is  danger,  a 

ligious  intolerance  in  times  that  have,  fall  may  be  a    hand  to  humble,  and  we 

in  a  great  measure,  gone    by.     Let   us  may  need  the  assistance  of  those  whom 

hope  that  they  may  never  return.     Let  we  thought  wo  had  excelled. 

Faithful  relates  his  Experience.  As  Christian  and  Faithi'ul  traveled 
together,  each  related  to  the  other  what  had  happened  during  their 
pilgrimage.  Faithful  left  the  City  of  Destruction  after  Christian 
had  commenced  his  journey  to  the  Celestial  City,  and  saw  Pliable 
after  he  had  left  Christian  in  tho  Slough  of  Despond.  Contrary  to 
his  expectation,  he  was  derided  and  despised  as  a  turn-coat,  by  all 
his  acqiuiintance;  for  even  the  worst  of  men  have  a  contempt  for 
those  who  desert  their  party  from  motives  of  cowardice.  "When  I 
^vas  near  the  Wicket  Gate,"  said  Faithful,  "'I  was  accosted  by  a 
•/ery  tempting  female,  whose  name  was  Wanton.  She  had  such  a 
flattering  tongue  and  fascinating  look,  that  she  almost  persuaded  me 
to  go  homo  with  her,  but  recollecting  what  was  said  of  her  in.  an 
ancient  writing,  that  ^Iler  steps  take  hold  on  helW  I  shut  my  eyes  so 
that  I  should  not  be  bewitched  by  her.  Then  she  railed  on  me,  and 
I  went  my  w'ay." 

"Wlien  I  arrived  at  the  foot  of  the  Hill  Difficulty,"  continued 
Faithful,  '•  I  met  with  an  aged  man,  who  asked  me  who  I  was,  and 
where  I  w^as  bound.  I  told  him  I  was  a  Pilgrim,  going  to  the  Celes- 
tial City.  He  then  tried  to  make  me  go  home  with  liim.  He  said 
his  name  was  Adam  the  first;  he  kept  a  house  stored  with  dainties, 
and  that  he  had  three  beautiful  and  attractive  daughters,  The  Lust 
of  the  Flesh,  the  Lust  of  the  Fije,  and  the  Fride  of^Life,  any  one  of 
whom  I  might  marry  if  I  would.  At  first  I  was  inclined  to  go  with 
him;  but  as  I  looked  upon  his  forehead,  I  saw  it  written,  'L^ut  ojff' 
the  old  man  with  his  deeds.'  I  then  told  him  I  would  not  go  near  his 
house,  and  as  I  turned  to  go  away,  he  gave  me  a  deadly  twitch  back, 
which  seemed  to  tear  me  asunder,  and  told  me  he  would  send  one 
after  me  who  would  make  my  way  bitter." 


38  THS    CHRISTIAN    PILGEIM 


Faithful  and  Moses.  Just  as  Faithfiil  got  up  the  Hill  Difficulty,  to 
the  place  where  Christian  lost  his  Roll,  he  espied  some  one  coming 
after  him.  "Soon  as  the  man  overtoolc  me,"  said  Faithful,  "it  was. 
but  a  word  and  a  blow,  for  he  knocked  me  down  in  an  instant,  and 
I  lay  as  one  dead.  When  I  was  a  little  recovered,  I  asked  him 
why  I  was  so  badly  used  ?  He  answered,  it  was  because  of  my  se- 
cret inclining  to  Adam  the  First;  and  upon  this,  he  gave  me  another 
blow  on  the  breast,  so  that  I  lay  helpless  as  before,  and  he  would 
have  doubtless  made  an  end  of  me,  had  not  a  compassionate  one 
passed  by,  and  told  him  to  forbear.  This  person,  I  afterward  un- 
derstood, was  the  Prince  of  Glory  himself." 

Apostates,  as  in  the  case  of  Pliable,  The  old  Adam,  the  corrupt  nature,  often 
are  despised  as  turn-coats  by  their  proves  a  constant  snare  to  many  be- 
wicked  associates.  Fleshly  tusts  plead  lievers,  by  its  thirsting  after  the  pleas- 
hard  for  indulgence,  and  ]ii'omise  much,  ures,  riches,  honors,  and  pride  of  the 
Many  have  fallen  by  temptation  and  world.  Moses,  or  the  Law  of  God, 
plunged  themselves  into  lasting  shame  shows  no  mercy  to  transgressions,  even 
and  misery.  Sometimes  there  is  no  in  thought  only,  and  were  it  not  for 
safety  but  in  shutting  our  C3^e8  and  the  merciful  interference  of  our  Ee- 
fleeing,    like  Joseph,  irom    temptation,  deemer,  we  should  all  perish. 

Faithful  meets  with  Discontent  and  Shame.  "When  I  was  in  the 
Valley  of  Humiliation,"  continued  Faithful,  "I  met  with  one  Dis- 
iwitent,  who  would  have  persuaded  me  to  go  back  with  him,  as  the 
valley  was  altogether  without  honor.  He  told  me  that  to  be  in 
such  a  place  woidd  disoblige  all  my  old  friends,  such  as  Pride,  Ar- 
rogance, Self-Conceit,  Worldly-Grlory,  and  others.  I  told  him  that 
all  these,  which  he  had  named,  might  indeed  claim  a  kindred  to 
me,  but  since  I  became  a  Pilgrim,  we  had  disowned  each  other,  and 
before  true  and  lasting  honor  there  must  be  humility.  Soon  after 
I  met  with  Shame,  whom  I  found  it  difficult  to  shake  off.  He  ob- 
jected against  ReJi/jioii  itself  He  said  it  was  pitiful,  low,  and  mean 
for  a  man  to  mind  Religion,  to  be  associated  with  a  set  of  gloomy 
and  insipid  creatures,  who  had  no  taste  for  the  noble  and  refined 
pleasures  of  elevated  society.  He,  moreover,  objected  to  the  base 
and  low  estate  and  condition  of  those  that  were  chiefly  the  Pilgrims 
of  the  times  in  which  they  lived.  Also,  that  it  was  undignified  and 
unmanly  to  sit  whining  and  mourning  under  a  sermon,  or  to  ask 
my  neighbor's  forgiveness  for  every  little  fault. 

Some  believers  are  tempted  to  repine  course  of  practical  CTiristianivy.  A  be- 
at the  outwai'd  reproach,  or  ridicule,  liever  may.  perhaps,  have  flattered  him- 
which    sometimes    attends  a  consistent    self  that    by   caution,  uprightness,  and 


THE    CHRISTIAN    PI  LGEIM.  39 


benevolence,  ho  would  insui'o  respect  and  remember    "that    which    is    esteemed 

affection;   but    experience    and  knowl-  among   men   is  often  an  abomintion  in 

edge  often  constrain  him  to  adopt  and  the  sight  of  God;"    and  like  his  Divine 

avow    sentiments,    and    associate  with  Master,  the  Christian  must  "  despise  the 

persons,  that  the  world  despises.    Shame  shame,"    and    "seek    that    honor   that 

is  a   powerful    enemy  to   many  Chris-  cometh  from  God  only." 
tians;  but  to  gain  the  victory,  one  must 

The  Pilgrims  overtake  Talkative,  After  Faithful  had  finished  hi 
narrative,  and  as  he  proceeded  onward  with  Christian,  they  per- 
ceived a  man  in  the  distance,  who  seemed  to  be  traveling  the  same 
way  as  themselves.  He  was  rather  taller  than  the  common  size, 
and  looked  better  at  a  distance  than  near  at  hand.  Faithful  com- 
ing up  with  him,  opened  the  conversation  by  asking  him  if  he  was 
traveling  to  the  heavenly  country.  Talkative,  for  that  was  his  name, 
replied  that  he  wns,  and  hoped  he  would  have  the  pleasure  of  his 
company.  Faithful  suggested  that  it  would  be  well  to  spend  much 
time  in  discoursing  on  profitable  subjects.  To  this  Talkative  quickly 
assented,  and  added  he  was  much  gratified  that  he  had  found  one 
who  was  desirous  of  conversing  on  noble,  elevated,  and  dignified 
matters.  After  touching  on  a  variety  of  topics,  on  which  they  both 
seemed  perfectly  agreed.  Faithful  proposed  that  he  should  name 
some  particular  subject  on  which  to  found  a  lengthened  and  profita- 
ble conversation.  "What  will  you,"  said  Talkative.  "I  will  talk  of 
things  heavenly,  or  things  earthly;  things  moral,  or  things  evan- 
gelical ;  things  sacred,  or  things  profane ;  things  past,  or  things  to 
come ;  things  foreign,  or  things  at  home ;  things  more  essential,  or 
things  circumstantial ;  provided  all  be  done  to  our  profit. 

Talkative  is  a  correct  portrait  of  who  hold  the  same  opinions,  such  char- 
many  professors,  whose  religion  con-  acters  may  be  expected  to  come  out. 
sists  principall}^  in  talk  only.  In  the  "Such  men  appear  a6ore  oMtr^,  pushing 
present  age,  Avhen  the  preaching  and  themselves  into  notice;"  but  their  pro- 
])rofession  of  any  doctrine  is  attended  fession,  specious  at  a  distance,  will 
with  little  or  no  hazard,  but  insures  not  bear  a  near  and  strict  investiga- 
regard  and  favor  from  a  numerous  body  tion. 

Talkative  Exposed.  Faithful  was  much  taken  with  Talkative's 
conversation,  and  when  he  returned  to  Christian,  he.  expressed  his 
admiration,  at  which  Christian  modestly  smiled,  saying,  "This  man, 
with  whom  you  are  so  much  taken,  will  beguile  with  his  tongue 
many  who  know  him  not.  I  know  him  well;  he  is  the  son  of  one 
Saijwell;  he  dwelt  in  Prating  Row,  and,  notwithstanding  liis  fine 
tongue,    he   is   a   worthless   fellow.     He  appears  best  abroad,   but 


40  THE    CHKISTIAN   PILGRIM 


ugly  at  home.  He  is  for  any  company  and  for  any  talk.  He  can 
join  with  the  wicked  in  their  conversation  as  well  as  with  the 
righteous ;  religion  hath  no  place  in  his  heart  or  house ;  all  that  he 
hath  lies  in  his  tongue,  and  his  religion  is  to  make  a  noise  and 
gain  favor  with  men.  Ho  talks  of  prayer,  repentance,  faith,  and  of 
the  new  birth ;  but  all  he  knows  about  them  consists  in  talk  only. 
Men  that  have  any  dealings  with  him  say  he  is  a  hard  customer, 
and  will  overreach  them  if  he  can ;  and  the  j^eople  that  know  him 
say  of  him,  "^1  saint  abroad  hut  a  devil  at  homey  In  short,  he  is  a 
stain  and  reproach  to  the  cause  of  Religion." 

Sometimes  Christian  duty  requires  us  but  we  should  show  that  vain   talkers 

to  unmask  hypocrites  and  undeceive  the  belong  to  the  world,  though   numbers 

deluded.     We  must  be  cautious  not  to  class  them  among   religious    i)eople,  to 

speak  needlessly  against  any  one,  nor  the  injury  of  the  cause, 
testify  more  than  we  know  to  be  true; 

Faithful  and  Talkative.  Christian  having  advised  Faithful  to 
enter  into  a  discourse  with  Talkative  about  the  power  of  religion, 
whether  he  feels  it  in  his  heart  or  conversation.  Faithful  then 
stepped  forward  again,  and  found  Talkative  very  ready  to  converse 
with  him  on  any  subject  he  would  name.  Faithful  proposed  the 
question,  How  doth  the  grace  of  Gfod  discover  itself  in  the  heart  of 
man?  To  this  Talkative  replied:  "This  is  a  good  question,  as  I 
perceive  our  talk  must  be  about  the  power  of  things.  My  answer, 
in  short,  is,  first,  where  the  grace  of  God  is,  it  will  cause  a  great 
outcry  against  sin;  secondly," — "Hold,"  says  Faithfid,  '•  let  us  con- 
sider btit  one  thing  at  a  time.  I  should  rather  say,  it  shows  it  by 
inclining  the  heart  to  abhor  its  sin.  Many  can  cry  out  against  sin 
in  the  pulpit,  yet  can  abide  it  well  enough  in  the  heart,  house,  and 
conversation.  What  is  the  second  sign  of  grace  in  the  heart?"  To 
this  question  Talkative  replied,  "  Grreat  knowledge  of  gospel  myste- 
riesV  Faithful  then  told  him  that  he  might  understand  all  myste- 
ries, speak  with  the  tongue  of  angels,  yet  without  love  he  was 
nothing ;  that  not  talkers  but  doers  are  those  that  have  the  grace  of 
God.  He  then  proposed  that  Talkative  should  propound  another 
token  of  Divine  grace  in  the  heart.  This  he  declined,  and  told 
Faithful  he  might  describe  it  if  he  wished;  for  he  saw  they  could 
not  agree.  Faithful  then  told  him  that  he  that  had  the  grace  of  God 
in  his  heart  would  show  it  by  a  holy  walk  and  conversation,  would 
hate  all  manner  of  sin  in  himself  and  others,  being  humble  and 
prayerful.     When  he  had  concluded,  he  asked  Talkative  if  his  lite 


THE    CHEISTIAN    PILGEIM.  41 

and  conversation  agreed  with  this,  or  did  his  religion  stand  in  word, 
and  not  in  deed  and  truth  ?  Talkative  at  first  blushed,  and  said  he 
did  not  expect  such  conversation,  iind  did  not  consider  himself  bound 
to  answer  such  questions,  and  as  he  seemed  to  be  ready  to  take  up 
reports  and  judge  so  rashly,  he  would  hold  no  further  conversation 
with  him. 

"How  Talkative  at  first  lifts  up  his  plumes! 
How  bravely  doth  he  speak!     How  he  presumes 
To  drive  down  all  before  him!     But  so  soon 
As  Faithful  talks  of  heart-work,  like  the  moon 
That's  past  the  full,  into  the  wane  he  goes ; 
And  so  will  all  but  he  that  heart-work  knows." 

Those    professors    of   religion   "who  the  most  severe   denunciations  against 

have  a   form  of  godliness   without    its  the  wicked,  supposing  they  do  not  ap- 

])ower,  can   converse  in  general   terms  ply  to    them  ;    but  when  the  conversa- 

about   religion,    complain  of  the  Avick-  tion  is  close,  stinging  their  consciences, 

edness    of  tlie  world,  the  blindness   of  they   seek  refuge    in    more    Liberal    or 

Pharisees,  and  even  sit  unmoved  under  comfortable  companions. 

Vanity  Fair.  After  the  Pilgrims  had  got  out  of  the  wilderness  in 
which  they  had  been  traveling,  they  saw  a  city  before  them,  which 
presented  a  dazzling  but  somewhat  disorderly  assemblage  of  splen- 
did houses,  gilded  temples,  magnificent  palaces,  arches,  columns, 
with  a  vast  variety  of  buildings,  dwellings,  and  market-places.  The 
name  of  the  city  is  Vanity,  and  in  the  place  there  is  a  fair  kept, 
all  the  year  round,  called  Vanity  Fair.  The  place  was  named  by  a 
wise  man,  because  every  thing  in  it,  and  every  thing  brought  to  be 
sold  in  it,  was  unsubstantial  as  Vanity.  The  place  was  founded 
almost  six  thousand  years  ago,  there  being  pilgrims  at  that  time 
who  were  walking  to  the  Celestial  City,  as  Christian  and  Faithful 
were;  and  Beelzebtib,  Apollyon,  and  Legion,  with  their  companions, 
perceiving  that  pilgrims  would  be  obliged  to  pass  through  the  town, 
contrived  to  set  up  a  fair,  for  the  sale  of  all  sorts  of  vanity,  which 
would  last  all  the  year,  without  intermission.  For  the  ambitious, 
there  were  honors,  preferments,  splendid  equipages,  costly  villas, 
and  even  mighty  kingdoms  and  empires.  For  the  sensual,  there 
was  a  profusion  of  the  richest  wines,  dainties  of  the  most  tempting 
kind,  fashionable  wives,  husbands,  and  children,  lascivious  women, 
pimps,  btiffoons,  lives,  blood,  bodies,  souls,  silver,  gold,  i)recious 
stones,  and  what  not.  There  was  also,  at  all  times  to  be  seen,  jug- 
glers, cheats,  games,  plays,  gamblers,  fools,  knaves,  and  rogues  of 
every  kind.     The  Prince  of  Glory  once  passed  through  this  fair,  and 


42  THE    CHRISTIAN    PI LGEIM. 

Beelzebub,  knowing  his  noble  origin,  took  him  over  the  city,  showed 
him  all  the  wealth  of  the  place,  and  offered  to  give  him  all  of  it  if  he 
would  condescend  to  pay  him  homage ;  but  the  Prince  disdained 
to  purchase  any  thing  at  the  fair. 

Vanity  Fair  is  a  representation  of  this  "Vanity  of  Vanities."  Our  Lord  and 
wicked  world,  whose  ])rofit8,  pleasures,  Savior  passed  through  all  these  temp- 
honors,  and  distinctions  are  transient  tations  without  being  drawn  aside,  and 
and  frivolous.  The  Prince  of  Devils  all  who  bear  his  name  ought  constantly 
sets  up  this  fair  to  lure  mankind  to  to  pray,  "O  Lord,  turn  off  my  eyes 
ruin.  Solomon,  after  a  complete  ex-  from  beholding  Vanity." 
periment,  pronounced  the  whole  to  be 

The  Pilgrims  in  Vanity  Fair.  When  Christian  and  Faithful  en- 
tered the  fair,  their  singular  dress  and  language  drew  a  crowd  of 
people  about  tliem.  Some  said  they  were  fools  ;  some,  that  they 
were  bedlamites  ;  others,  that  they  were  too  outlandish  to  be  abroad. 
One  thing  which  particularly  attracted  attention,  was  the  refusal  of 
the  pilgrims  to  purchase  any  of  the  wares  kept  at  the  fair.  When 
offered  any  thing,  they  looked  upward,  signifying  their  trade  and 
traffic  was  in  Heaven ;  and  when  they  told  them  they  only  "  bought 
the  truth,"  they  began  to  treat  them  roughly,  some  mocking,  some 
speaking  reproachfully,  while  some  called  upon  others  to  smite  them. 
Things,  at  last,  were  brought  into  such  a  disordered  state,  that  word 
was  sent  to  the  great  one  of  the  fair,  who  quickly  dispatched  some  of 
his  most  trusty  friends  to  take  the  Pilgrims  into  an  examination. 
Wlien  they  were  brought  to  their  judges,  they  were  asked  whence 
they  came,  whither  they  went,  and  what  they  did  there  in  such 
an  unusual  garb.  The  men  told  them  that  they  were  Pilgrims  and 
strangers  in  the  world,  and  that  they  were  going  to  their  own  country, 
the  Ileavenhj  Jerusalem,  and  that  they  had  given  no  just  occasion  to 
the  men  of  the  town,  nor  to  the  merchants,  thus  to  abuse  them,  or  to 
stop  them  on  their  journey.  But  their  examiners,  believing  them 
to  be  deranged  persons,  or  rather  such  as  wished  to  create  disturb- 
ances in  the  fair,  took  and  beat  them,  besmeared  their  clothes  with 
dirt,  and  then  put  them  into  a  cage,  that  they  might  be  a  spectacle 
to  all  the  men  of  the  fair.  Here  they  were  insulted  and  derided. 
Christian  and  Faithful  bore  all  these  indignities  with  such  meekness 
and  patience  that  they  won  to  their  side  several  men  of  the  fair. 

Genuine  Christians,  when  appearing  some  distui'bance,  and   the  smaller  the 

in  character,  among  a  large  concourse  number  of  those  who,  by  their  actions, 

of  wicked  or  worldly  people,  collected  words,  or  silence,  protest  against  vice, 

for  sinful  pur^joses,  generally  produce  the  fiercer  the  opposition  that  will  bo 


THE    CIimSTIAN    PILGEIM.  43 

excited.     Those    who    walk    ufter    the  Christian   iasane   or  outlandish   for   his 

commands  of  Christ  are    often  deemed  peculiarities,    and    arc    quite    desirous 

precise    and  amcouth  in  the  judgment  that  he  should  be    held    up  to   ridicule 

of  those  "who  walk  according    to   the  and  contempt,  because    he    is  not    like 

course  of  this  world;"  they  deem   the  unto  them. 

Trial  and  Execution  of  Faithful.  After  Christian  and  his  compan- 
ion had  hiid  some  time  in  their  prison,  the 'latter  was  brought  out 
to  be  tried.  The  name  of  the  judge  was  Hate-good,  and  the  indict- 
ment against  Faithful,  the  prisoner  at  the  bar,  was,  "  that  he  was 
an  enemy  to  the  traffic  and  welfare  of  the  city;  that  he  had  fo- 
mented riots  and  seditions  among  the  inhabitants,  had  seduced 
numbers  of  them  to  embrace  his  own  dangerous  opinions,  and  de- 
sert the  place  of  their  nativity,  in  contempt  of  the  law  and  govern- 
ment of  their  j^rince.  The  three  witnesses  against  him  were  Envy. 
Superstition,  and  Pick-thank.  Envy  testified  that  the  prisoner  was  a 
bad  man,  regarding  neither  their  laws  and  customs,  but  spent  his 
time  in  poisoning  the  public  mind  with  what  he  calls  the  j^?r»/njo/fi' 
of  faith  and  holiness,  and  by  it  condemning  some  of  our  most  worthy 
citizens.  Superstition  said  that  he  knew  that  he  was  a  pestilent 
fellow,  and  he  had  heard  him  say  that  the  religion  of  our  place 
was  worthless;  that  we  were  yet  in  our  sins,  and  would  finally 
be  lost.  Pick-thank  testified  that  he  had  known  the  prisoner  for  a 
long  time,  and  had  heard  him  speak  frequently  against  their  prince, 
had  railed  on  him,  and  had  spoken  contemptuously  of  his  honorable 
friends  Mr.  Carnal-delight,  Mr.  Luxurious,  Esq.,  Desire  of  Vain  Glory, 
his  old  friend  Mr.  Letchery,  with  many  other  respectable  citizens. 

The  judge  now  called  upon  the  jury  to  decide  the  case,  stating 
that  they  had  heard  the  testimony  of  the  respectable  witnesses  who 
had  appeared  against  the  prisoner;  that  he  evidently  had  broken 
the  laws  of  the  country,  and  it  was  for  them  to  say  whether  he  was 
worthy  of  death.  The  jurors  consisted  of  Messrs.  Blind-man,  No- 
good,  Malice,  Love-lust,  Live-loose,  Heady,  High-mind,  Enmity,  Liar, 
Cruelty,  Hate-light,  and  Implacable,  who,  every  one,  gave  in  his 
private  verdict  among  themselves,  and  afterward  unanimously  con- 
cluded to  bring  Faithful  guilty  before  the  judge.  Among  them- 
selves, Mr.  Blind-man,  the  foreman,  said:  "I  clearly  see  this  man  is 
a  heretic."  No-good  said,  "Away  with  the  fellow  from  the  earth.'" 
Malice  said,  he  "hated  the  very  looks  of  him."  Love-lust  said, 
he  "coidd  never  endure  him."  Mr.  Live-loose  said  he  "was  al- 
ways condemning."  "Hang  him!"  said  Heady.  "A  sorry  scrub," 
said  Pligh-mind.    "  My  heart  riseth  against  him/'  said  Enmity.    "  He 


44  THE    CHRISTIAN    PILGKIM. 

is  a  rogue,"  said  Liar.  "  Hanging  is  too  good  for  him,"  said  Cru- 
elty. "Get  him  out  of  the  way,"  said  Hate-light;  "let  us  bring 
him  in  guilty  of  death,"  which  was  quickly  agreed  upon  by  all  the 
rest.  Faithful  was,  accordingly,  brought  out  into  a  public  place,  to 
do  with  him  according  to  their  law ;  and,  first,  they  scourged  him ; 
then  they  lanced  his  nesh  with  their  knives;  after  that  they  stoned 
him  with  stones,  then  pricked  him  with  their  swords,  and,  last  of 
all,  they  burned  him  to  ashes  at  the  stake.  Thus  came  Faithful  to 
his  end.  Now,  I  saw  that  there  stood  behind  the  multitude  a  chariot 
and  a  couple  of  horses,  waiting  for  Faithful,  who,  so  soon  as  his  ad- 
versaries had  dispatched  him,  was  taken  up  into  it,  and  straightway 
was  carried  up  through  the  clouds,  with  sound  of  a  trumpet,  the 
nearest  way  to  the  Celestial  Gate. 

The  actors  who    generally  figure  in  gards  '"life  and  limb,"  has  been  mostly 

religious  persecutions    are  here  cxhib-  taken  away,  yet  the  same  spirit  still  pre- 

ited    under  their    appropriate  appella-  vails  in  some  places   to  a  considerable 

tions;  the  names  of  the  jurymen  show  extent.     When    the   believer   has  done 

the  opposers  and  nature  of  their  oppo-  his  work,  the  wrath  of  man  maybeper- 

sition   against  fiiithful   Christians.     At  mitted  to  expedite  his    removal   to  his 

the  present  day,  by  the   providence  of  heavenly  inheritance. 
Grod,  the   power  of  persecutors,    as  re- 

CJirlstian  and  Faithful  overtake  By-ends.  Christian,  by  the  means 
granted  by  Him  who  overrules  all  things,  was  enabled  to  escape 
from  the  prison,  was  accompanied  on  the  way  by  one  w^hose  na;me 
was  Hopeful,  (being  so  made  by  beholding  the  patient  suiferings  and 
constancy  of  the  Pilgrims  at  the  fair,)  who  joined  himself  to  hini  in 
a  brotherly  covenant,  and  told  him  that  he  would  be  his  companion. 
After  they  had  got  out  of  the  fair,  they  overtook  a  man  by  the 
name  of  B/j-ends.  They  asked  him  of  what  country  he  was,  and 
how  far  he  was  going?  He  replied  that  he  came  from  Fair-speech, 
and  was  going  to  the  Celestial  City,  but  did  not  tell  them  his  name. 
On  Christian's  asking  him  who  his  relatives  were  in  that  place.  By- 
ends  replied,  "Almost  the  whole  town,  and  in  particular  the  follow- 
ing prominent  gentlemen  of  the  place,  viz.:  Messrs.  Tvrn-about,  Time- 
server,  Fair-speech  (from  whose  ancestors  the  town  derived  its  name). 
Smooth-man,  Facing-both-ways,  Any-thing,  and  the  parson  of  the 
parish,  the  Rev.  Mr.  Two-tongues.  My  wife  was  Esq.  Feignvng's 
daughter,  a  well-bred  lady.  It  is  true  we  differ  a  little  in  religious 
matters  from  those  of  the  stricter  sort.  First,  we  never  strive  against 
wind  and  tide;   secondly,  we  like  that  religion  which  goes  in  silver 


THE    CIIUISTTAX    PlLGRrM. 


45 


2  TIMOTHY, 

Chap,  iii: 
verse  12. 


I  PETER, 
Chap,  iv: 
verse  4. 


I   CORINTHI'NS, 
Chap,  iv: 
verse  13. 


JOHN, 

Chap.  XV : 

verses  18,  19. 


HEBREWS, 

Chap,  xl: 

verse  37. 


^A^^M^^^^mW^mf^IMif'^^^K 


Jiiiag^;Witiiesses ,  Jtucl  JUiyliave  iiisteadj 
Ofovetcpmiug.vthee.'but  sheriiiAtlieir  rag-e, 


ACTS 
Chap,  vii 
verse  59. 


REVELATION, 

Chap,  xi : 
verse  13. 


REVELATION, 
Chap.  XX : 
verse  4. 


MATTHEW, 
Chap.  X : 
verse  39. 


REVELATION, 

Chap,  xi: 
verse  10. 


"And  last  of  aU  they  hxirned  htm  to  ashes  at  the  stake.  Now  I  saio  that 
there  stood  behind  the  multitude  a  chariot  and  a  couple  of  horses,  icaiting  for 
Faithful;  tcho,  so  soon  as  his  adversaries  had  dispatched  him,  was  taken  up 
into  it,  and  straightway  ivas  carried  through  the  clouds,  with  the  sound  of  a 
trumpet^  the  nearest  way  to  tjie  Celestial  Gate." 


4G  THE    CHRISTIAN    PILGRIM. 

slipj)ers,  and  loves  much  to  walk  with  him  in  the  street,  if  the  sun 
shines,  and  people  applaud  him." 

"  The  blood  of  the  Martyrs  is  the  seed  their  souls,  and,  at  the  same  time,  aim  to 
of  the  Church,"  for  the  proper  endurance  glorify  God  and  to  be  useful  to  their 
of  sufferings  in  the  Christian  cause  is  neighbors;  but  hypocrites  profess  to  be 
the  most  convincing  kind  of  preaching,  religious,  in  order  to  obtain  friends. 
By-ends,  and  his  numerous  relatives,  patrons,  customers,  or  applause;  those 
are  descriptive  of  a  large  class  of  pro-  follow  the  Lord  habitually,  whatever 
fessed  Christians,  who  in  every  age,  tribulations  arise  because  of  the  Word  ; 
and  under  various  pretenses,  suppose  but  these  conceal  or  deny  their  profes- 
"that  gain  is  godliness."  The  great  sion,  when,  instead  of  gaining  by  it, 
difference  between  these  persons  and  they  are  exposed  to  reproach  or  perse- 
true  Christians,  consists  in  these  two  cution. 
things;  Christians  seek  the  salvation  of 

Christian  detects  By-ends.  By-ends,  when  giving  the  names  of  his 
relatives,  did  not  mention  his  own.  Christian,  therefore,  asked  him 
if  it  was  not  By-ends  of  Fair-speech.  By-ends  said  it  was  not,  but 
it  was  merely  a  nickname  given  by  some  who  could  not  abide  him, 
but  he  had  to  bear  reproach  as  other  good  men  had  done  before  him. 
It  is  true  I  had  always  the  luck  to  jump  in  my  judgment  with  the 
present  way  of  the  times,  whatever  it  was,  and  my  chance  was  to 
get  thereby.  But  if  these  things  are  cast  upon  me,  let  us  count 
them  a  blessing.  Christian  then  told  him  that  he  feared  that  the 
name  properly  belonged  to  him,  and  that  if  he  wished  to  go  with 
them,  he  would  have  to  go  against  wind  and  tide,  which  he  per- 
ceived was  against  his  opinion ;  and  he  also  must  own  religion  when 
in  rags  as  well  as  when  in  his  silver  slippers,  and  stand  by  him 
when  bound  in  irons  as  well  as  when  he  walketh  the  streets  with 
applause.  By-ends  said  that  no  one  must  lord  it  over  his  faith,  and 
that  he  should  never  desert  his  own  principles,  as  they  were  profit- 
able and  harmless,  and  if  he  could  not  go  with  them  he  should  as- 
sociate with  others  of  more  liberal  sentiments.  Christian  and  Hope- 
ful then  went  forward  and  left  By-ends  behind. 

When  hypocritical  professors  are  deeming  themselves  very  fortunate  and 
charged  with  their  double-dealing  and  prudent  in  shifting  about  so  as  to  avoid 
obvious  crimes,  they  are  quite  apt  to  the  cross  and  secure  these  worldly  in- 
set it  down  as  persecution,  and  class  terests.  The  Apostle  says,  "  From  such 
themselves  with  that  blessed  company  turn  away,"  and  we  should  avoid  every 
of  whom  "all  manner  of  evil  is  spoken  thing  that  would  give  countenance  to 
falsely  for  the  name  of  Christ."  Thus  such  conduct, 
they   endeavor    to  quiet   their    minds, 

By-ends^  Ilold-the-world,  Money-love,    and  Save-all.     Christian  and 


THE    CHEISTIAN    PILGEIM.  47 

Hopeful,  as  they  looked  back  saw  three  men,  who  were  coming  up, 
readily  joined  company  with  By-ends.  Their  names  were  Hold-the- 
world,  Money-love,  and  Save-all,  and  they  were  acquainted  with 
By-ends,  being,  when  they  were  young,  schoolmates,  who  were 
taught  by  one  Mr.  Gripeman,  a  schoolmaster  in  Love-gain,  a  large 
business  place  in  the  county  of  Coveting,  in  the  JN^orth.  This 
schoolmaster  taught  them  the  art  of  getting,  either  by  violence,  coz- 
enage, flattery,  lying,  or  putting  on  the  guise  of  religion ;  and  these 
four  scholars  attained  so  much  the  art  of  their  master,  that  either  of 
them  could  have  kept  such  a  school  themselves.  Money-love  ob- 
serving Christian  and  Hopeful  traveling  before  them,  in  the  dis- 
tance,  asked  who  they  were.  By-ends  replied  they  were  men  so 
set  in  their  notions  that,  let  a  man  be  ever  so  godly,  yet  if  he  did 
not  fall  in  with  them  in  all  things,  they  thrust  him  out  of  their 
company.  "That's  bad,"  said  Save-all,  "but  we  read  of  those  thai; 
are  righteous  overmuch,  and  condemn  every  body  but  themselves , 
but  wherein  did  they  differ  from  you?"  "Why,  in  their  headstrong 
manner ;  they  consider  it  their  duty  to  rush  on  their  journey  in  all 
weathers,  while  I  am  waiting  for  wind  and  tide  ;  they  are  hazarding 
all  for  Grod  at  a  clap,  while  I  am  for  taking  all  advantages  to  se- 
cure my  life  and  estate ;  they  are  for  holding  their  notions,  though 
every  body  is  against  them,  but  I  am  for  religion  in  what  and  so 
far  as  the  times  and  my  safety  will  bear  it."  Hold-the-world  said 
that  "  for  his  part,  he  liked  religion  best  that  will  stand  with  the 
security  of  God's  good  blessings  unto  us.  Abraham  and  Solomon 
grew  rich  in  religion.  And  Job  says  that  a  good  man  'shall  lay 
up  gold  as  dust.' " 

The  conversation  of  these  men  shows  the  deceit  of  the  human  heart!     These 

what  is  in  the  heart,  ratlier  tlian  in  the  fallen  creatures  will,  many  times,  quote 

words,  of  many  who  attend  the  preach-  tlie  Scriptures  in  order  to  justify  tliem- 

ing    of  the    Grospel,  who    expect   to  be  selves  in  their  extreme  seltishness   and 

thought  to  be   Christian  believers.     O,  idolatry. 

JBif-ends  proposed  a  Question.  By-ends,  after  remarking  to  his  com- 
panions that,  as  they  were  all  going  on  a  pilgrimage,  it  would  be 
well  to  have  their  minds  engaged  on  something  protitablo  while  or, 
their  journey,  and,  in  accofdance  with  this,  woukl  propound  the  fol- 
lowing question :  "  Suppose  a  man,  minister,  or  tradesman,  etc., 
should  have  an  opportunity  to  get  the  good  blessings  of  this  life,  by 
becoming  exceedingly  zealous  on  some  points  of  religion,  may  he 
not  use  this  means  to  attain  his  end,  and  yet  be  a  right  honest 
16 


48  THE    CHEISTIAN    PILGRIM. 

man?"  Money-love,  in  giving  his  views  on  the  question,  said  that 
*'  whenever  there  was  a  Providential  opening  placed  beibie  a  minister, 
whereby  he  could  get  a  large  salary,  he  ought  to  embrace  the  op- 
portunity to  get  the  good  things  of  this  life,  asking  no  questions  for 
conscience'  sake.  Besides,  his  desire  after  a  large  salary  makes  a 
more  zealous  preacher,  and  so  a  better  man.  In  the  next  place, 
should  he  desert,  or  suppress  some  of  his  principles  to  serve  the 
people,  shows  that  he  is  of  a  self-denying  temper,  and  so  more  fit 
for  his  ministerial  office.  As  it  regards  a  tradesman,  suppose  he  is 
in  depressed  circumstances,  yet  by  becoming  religious  he  can  get  a 
rich  wife,  and  more  and  far  better  customers  to  his  store,  all  this, 
I  think,  can  be  lawfully  done;  for  to  become  religious  by  any  means 
is  a  virtue;  neither  is  it  unlawful  to  get  a  rich  wife  nor  more  cus- 
tomers to  my  shop;  so,  then,  here  a  man  gets  a  good  wife,  good 
customers,  and  good  gain ;  and  all  these  by  becoming  religious, 
which  is  also  good." 

Christian's  answer  to  the  Question.  Money-love's  answer  appearing 
so  satisfactory  and  unansv/erable  to  By-ends  and  his  companions, 
they  got  Hold-the-world  to  propose  it  to  Christian  and  Hopeful, 
who  were  within  call.  When  Christian  heard  the  proposition,  he 
at  once  replied :  "  Even  a  babe  in  religion  can  answer  a  thousand 
such  questions.  For  if  it  be  unlawful  to  follow  Christ  for  loaves, 
how  much  more  abominable  is  it  to  make  him  and  religion  a  stalk- 
ing-horse to  get  and  enjoy  the  world.  We  find  no  others  but  hyp- 
ocrites, devils,  sorcerers,  and  the  like,  to  be  of  this  opinion.  The 
hypocritical  Pharisees  made  long  prayers  to  get  widows'  houses ; 
Judas,  the  traitor,  seems  to  have  become  religious  for  the  bag,  that 
he  might  be  possessed  of  what  was  therein.  Simon,  the  sorcerer, 
was  also  of  this  religion,  for  he  would  have  the  Holy  Ghost,  that 
he  might  have  got  money  therewith.  Therefore,  Christian  told  them 
that  to  answer  the  question  atfiirmatively,  and  approve  of  it  as  they 
had  done,  would  be  hjq^ocritical,  wicked,  and  heathenish,  and  their 
reward  would  be  according  to  their  w^orks."  At  this.  By-ends  and 
his  companions  lagged  behind. 

Pretensions  to  diligence,  zeal,  piety,  Clu'istians,  and  who  advocate  such  a 
with  some  change  or  suppression  of  course  as  being  prudent  and  comniend- 
doctrine,  merely  to  please  men,  in  order  able.  The  answer  of  Christian,  though 
to  obtain  some  worldly  good,  is  an  somewhat  rough,  shows,  from  Bible  ex- 
abomination  which  has  often  been  prac-  hibitions,  to  what  these  time-serving 
ticed    by    those   who    call    themselves  men  belong. 

Hill  Lucre,  Silver-mine^  Demas.     Christian   and   Hopeful  having 


THE    CHKISTIAN    PlLGllliM.  49 

passed  a  plain  called  Ease,  came  to  the  hill  Lucre,  where  there  was 
a  silver  mine,  which  some  travelers,  in  passing  this  way,  had  turned 
aside  to  see;  but  going  too  near  the  mouth  of  the  pit,  the  ground 
under  them  gave  way,  and  they  were  killed  by  falling  to  the  bot- 
tom, and  some  were  so  maimed  that  they  never  recovered  the  use 
of  their  limbs.  Demas,  a  gentlemanlike  man,  was  now  at  the  mine 
inviting  all  travelers  to  turn  aside  a  little,  and  he  would  show  them 
something  valuable.  Hopeful  seemed  inclined  to  go,  but  Christian 
prevented  him  by  telling  him  that  many  had  lost  their  lives  at  the 
mine,  and  that  the  treasure  found  there  had  proved  a  snare,  for  it 
hindered  many  in  their  pilgrimage.  Christian  then  called  to  Demas, 
and  asked  him  if  it  was  not  dangerous  to  enter  the  mine ;  to  which 
he  answered  it  was  not  much  so,  except  to  those  who  are  careless; 
he  however  blushed  as  he  spoke.  When  By-ends  and  his  compan- 
ions came  in  sight  of  the  mine,  they  immediately  went  over  to  Demas. 
Whether  they  fell  in  by  looking  over  the  brink,  or  whether  they 
went  down  to  dig,  or  whether  they  were  smothered  at  the  bottom 
by  the  damps  which  prevail  here,  is  not  certainly  known,  but  they 
were  never  afterward  seen.     Then  said  Christian : 

"By-ends  and  silver  Demas  both  agree; 
One  calls,  the  other  runs,  that  he  may  be 
A  sharer  in  his  lucre;  so  these  two 
Take  up  in  this  world,  and  no  further  go." 

The  hill  Lucre,  with  the  silver  mine,  believers  are  very  liable  to  be  seduced 
is  a  little  out  of  the  Pilgrim's  path;  and  by  the  example  and  persuasions  of  false 
they  "who  will  be  rich  fall  into  temp-  professors,  and  to  deviate  from  the  di- 
lation and  a  snare"  by  accepting  the  rect  path  in  order  to  obtain  worldly 
offer  of  Demas.  Many,  by  coveting  advantages,  by  means  that  man^^  deem 
after  money,  "have  erred  from  the  faith  fair  and  honorable.  In  this  case,  the 
and  have  pierced  themselves  through  counsel  and  warnings  of  an  experienced 
with   many    sorrows."      Inexperienced  comj)anion  are  of  the  greatest  moment. 

Lot's  Wife,  Bimr  of  God.  After  the  Pilgrims  had  passed  the 
hill  Lucre,  they  came  to  a  place  by  the  wayside,  where  stood  an, 
old  monument,  wdiich  attracted  their  attention,  for  it  had  the  ap- 
pearance of  a  woman  who  had  been  suddenly  petrified  by  super- 
natural power  while  standing  upright  like  a  pillar.     By  a  close  ex- 

to 
as 

gave  us  to  go  over  to  the  silver  mine,   for  had  we  gone    over  we 
might  have  been  made  a  spectacle  to  those  who  come  after  us ;  and 


50  THE    CHRISTIAN    PILGIUM 


it  is  to  be  observed  that  this  woman  escaped  one  judgment,  for  she 
fell  not  by  the  destruction  of  Sodom;  yet  she  was  destroyed  by 
another,  as  we  see  she  is  turned  into  a  piUar  of  salt." 

After  this  they  went  on  their  way  to  a  pleasant  river,  which  King 
David  called  "the  River  of  God;"  but  John,  "the  River  of  the 
Water  of  Life."  As  their  way  lay  on  its  banks,  they  walked  along 
with  great  delight;  they  drank  also  of  the  water  of  the  river,  which 
was  pleasant  and  enlivening  to  their  weary  spirits.  On  both  sides 
of  the  river  were  green  trees  for  all  manner  of  fruit,  and  the  leaves 
were  used  to  cure  or  prevent  all  manner  of  disease.  There  were 
also  meadows  adorned  with  lilies,  where  they  might  lie  down  and 
sleep  in  safety. 

It  is  strange  that  men  who  profess  to  may  be  purchased  by  it,  to  the  honoi 
believe  the  Bible  can  so  confidently  of  Christ,  and  obedience  to  his  com- 
attempt  to  reconcile  the  love  of  the  mandments?  The  Holy  Spirit,  the 
world  with  the  service  of  Clod,  when  source  of  life,  holiness,  and  joy,  is  rep- 
there  are  so  many  instructions,  warn-  resented  by  the  "Eiver  of  God,"  even 
ings,  and  examples  given  in  the  Bible  that  "  Iliver  of  the  water  of  Life,  clear 
whicli  show  the  fatal  consequences  of  as  crystal,  proceeding  out  of  the  throne 
so  doing.  If  Lot's  wife,  who  merely  of  God  and  that  of  the  Lamb."  There 
hankered  after  the  possessions  she  left  are  seasons  in  the  Christian's  life,  when 
behind  in  Sodom,  and  turned  back  with  he  enjoys,  in  a  large  measure,  sweet 
the  design  of  returning,  was  made  a  communion  with  God,  finds  all  his 
monument  of  the  Lord's  displeasure,  maladies  healed  by  faith  in  the  divine 
what  must  be  the  doom  of  those  pro-  Savior,  and  anticipates  with  unspeak- 
fessed  Christians  who  habitually  prefer  able  delight  the  glory  that  shall  be  re- 
worldly  gain,    or   the    indulgence  that  vealed. 

By-path  Ileadows.  After  awhile  the  Pilgrims  were  obliged  to 
turn  from  the  banks  of  the  river,  where  they  had  taken  much  sat- 
isfaction, and  their  road  now  became  so  rough  that  they  were  some- 
what discouraged.  As  they  passed  along,  they  saw  on  their  left 
hand  a  meadow,  called  By-path  Meadow,  where  there  was  a  path 
on  the  other  side  of  the  fence,  which  appeared  to  run  by  the  side 
of  that  in  which  they  were  traveling.  Christian,  therefore,  proj^osed 
to  Hopeful  that  they  should  go  over  the  fence,  which  they  both  did, 
and  found  the  road  much  easier  to  their  feet,  A  little  before  them 
they  espied  a  man  walking  as  they  did,  by  the  name  of  Vain 
Confidence.  Calling  after  him,  they  asked  him  whither  that  way 
led?  He  said,  "To  the  Celestial  Gate."  At  this  they  felt  encour- 
aged to  go  on.  In  a  short  time  night  came  on,  and  it  grew  very 
dark,  so  that  they  could  not  see  the  direction  in  which  they  were 
going.     Yain  Confidence,  not  seeing  his  way,    fell  into  a  deep  joit. 


THE    CHEISTIAN    PILGRIM, 


51 


PROVERBS, 
Chap,  iii: 
verse  5. 


EPHESIANS, 
Chap,  v: 
verse  15. 


PROVERBS, 

Chap,  xiv: 
verse  12. 


I  THESS. 

Chap,  v: 
verse  22. 


I  JOHN,      . 

Chap,  iii : 
verse  20. 


Do  therebjpluag-e  tbemse).ves  new  g;iieves;iiiitp 


PSALM 

Ixxxviii : 
verse  8. 


JOB, 

Chap,  vii: 

verse  15. 


PSALM 

cxvi : 
verse  3. 


PSALM 

Ixxvii : 

verse  7. 


PSALM 

Ixxxix: 
verses  32,  33. 


"iVoM?  there  loas,  not  far  from  the  place  ichcre  they  Jay,  a  rasfle,  called 
Doubting  Castle,  a  rough,  strong  building,  the  owner  viKreof  was  Giant  De- 
spair ;  and  it  icas  in  his  grounds  they  now  tcere  sleeping.  Wherefore  he  get- 
ting up  in  the  morning  early,  and  ^calking  up  and  down  in  his  fields,  caught 
Christian  and  Hopeful  asleep  in  his  grounds." 


52  THE    CnRISTIAN    PILGRIM. 

Christian  and  Hopeful  heard  him,  and  called  to  know  the  mat- 
ter, but  they  only  heard  a  groaning.  The  Pilgrims  were  now  much 
distressed ;  but  for  their  encouragement,  they  heard  one  saying, 
"  Turn  toward  the  highway."  But  by  this  time  the  waters  were 
greatly  risen,  by  which  the  way  of  going  back  was  dangerous; 
yet  they  ventured,  and  liked  to  have  been  drowned  several  times. 
At  last,  finding  a  little  shelter,  they  being  very  weary,  fell  asleep. 

When  the  path  of  duty  becomes  rough,  end  trouble  will  ensue.     Every  wrong; 

there  is  a  temptation,  to  many  minds,  step  makes  way  for  further  temptations, 

to  seek   for  some   method   of  declining  The  example  of  vain  pretenders  to  re- 

the  Cross,  or  shifting  the  difficulty  be-  ligion   helps  to  increase  the  confidence 

fore  them;  nor  will   it   be  long  before  of  those  who  have  departed    from   the 

some  by-path  will  be  discovered.     The  path  of  obedience.     The  awful  death  of 

commandments  of  God  mark    out    the  some  vainglorious  hypocrite  sometimes 

path  of  holiness  and  safety,  but  a  devi-  has  a   salutary    effect ;  Christians  who 

ation  from  their    exact   strictures  may  have  been  led  astray  will  seek  to  return 

sometimes  appear  plausible,  but  in  the  to  the  j)ath  of  duty. 

The  Pilgrims  Imprisoned  hi)  Giant  Despair.  Xow,  there  was  not  far 
from  the  place  where  they  lay  a  castle  called  Doubting  Castle,  a 
rough,  strong  building,  the  owner  whereof  was  Giant  Despair;  and 
it  was  in  his  grounds  now  they  were  sleeping.  Wherefore,  he  get- 
ting up  in  the  morning  early,  and  walking  up  and  down  in  his 
fields,  caught  Christian  and  Hopeful  asleep  in  his  grounds.  With 
a  grim  and  surly  voice,  he  bid  them  to  wake  up,  and  asked  them 
what  they  were  doing  on  his  grounds.  They  told  him  they  were 
Pilgrims,  and  had  lost  their  way.  "Then,"  said  the  Griant,  "you  have 
trespassed  on  me  by  traveling  in  and  lying  on  my  grounds;  there- 
fore you  must  go  along  with  me."  As  resistance  appeared  hopeless, 
they  were  forced  to  submit.  The  Giant  drove  them  before  him, 
and  put  them  into  his  castle,  into  a  very  dark  dungeon,  very  filthy 
and  very  distressing  to  the  spirits  of  these  two  men.  Here  they 
lay  from  Wednesday  morning  until  Saturday  night,  without  one  bit 
of  bread  or  drop  of  drink,  having  no  light,  nor  any  one  to  ask 
them  how  they  did,  for  they  were  far  from  friends  and  acquaint- 
ances. 

The  capture  and  confinement  of  the  later,    Doubting    Castle    will    be     the 

Pilgrims  in  Doubting    Castle  may  rep-  prison,  and   Giant  Despair  will  be  the 

resent  the  case  of  those  Christians  who  keeper  of  all  those  who  turn  aside  from 

have    wandered    into    forbidden  paths,  the    path  of  duty,   on    account    of  its 

until  they  have  sinned  in  such  a  man-  roughness,  or  who  trust   in   their   own 

ner  that  they  begin  to   doubt   and  de-  wisdom  or  righteousness, 
spair  of  the  mercy  of  God.     Sooner  or  > 


THE    CHEISTIAN    PILGEIM.  53 

The  Pilgrims  urged  to  commit  suicide.  Giant  Despair  had  a  wife, 
whose  name  was  Diffidence,  and  when  they  had  retired  for  the  night, 
he  asked  her  what  he  should  do  with  the  Pilgrims,  his  prisoners. 
Her  advice  was,  that  he  should  beat  them  without  mercy.  In  the 
morning,  therefore,  he  took  his  club,  went  into  the  dungeon,  and 
beat  them  in  such  a  manner  that  they  were  scarcely  able  to  move. 
The  next  night  Diffidence  told  her  husband  that  he  had  better  ad- 
vise them  to  make  way  with  themselves ;  so  the  next  morning  he 
went  to  them  in  a  surly  manner,  and  told  them  that  as  there  was 
no  prospect  of  their  getting  out  of  prison,  they  had  better  end  their 
misery  either  with  a  knife,  halter,  or  poison.  Poor  Christian  was, 
at  the  first,  strongly  tempted  to  follow  this  advice,  but  he  was 
brought  to  a  better  mind  by  Hopeful,  who  reminded  him  that  the 
Lord  of  the  country  to  which  they  were  going  had  said,  "  Thou  shalt 
do  no  murder,"  and  he  had  declared  that"  "  no  murderer  hath  eter- 
nal life,"  etc.  "Besides,"  said  Faithful,  "who  know^s  but  that  Giant 
Despair  may  die,  or  forget  to  lock  us  in ;  or,  perhaps,  he  may  have 
one  of  his  fits  again  and  lose  the  use  of  his  limbs."  The  next  day, 
upon  the  advice  of  his  wife,  the  Giant  took  his  prisoners  into  the 
castle  yard,  and  showed  them  the  bones  and  skulls  of  those  he  had 
destroyed  for  trespassing  on  his  grounds,  and  he  told  them  that  if 
they  did  not  follow  his  advice  he  would  do  the  same  with  them. 

Desponding  fears,  when  they  80  pre-  remains),   the   temptation  will  eventu- 
vail  as  to  keep  men  from  prayer,  make  ally  be  overcome.     Hopeful's  scriptural 
way  for  temptations  to  suicide  as  the  quotations  are  conclusive    against  self- 
only   relief  from    misery;    but    where  murder, 
there  is  any  true  faith  (j^rovided  sanity 

>  .     .  .  ' 

The  Pilgrims  escape  from  DouUing  Castle.  Christian  being  greatly 
discouraged,  Hopeful  endeavored  to  cheer  him  up  by  reminding  him 
how  he  had  been  preserved  thus  far,  through  many  dangers  ;  he  told 
him  how  he  had,  in  former  times,  gained  the  victory  over  Apollyon ; 
how  he  had  passed  through  the  Valley  of  the  Shadow  of  Death. 
"Remember,"  said  Hopeful,  "how  thou  playedst  the  man  at  Vanity 
Fair,  and  was  not  afraid  of  chains,  cages,  or  a  bloody  death  ;  therefore, 
-that  he  that  hath  delivered  you  thus  far  will  deliver  you  again.'' 
On  Saturday,  about  midnight,  they  began  to  pray,  and  continued 
until  near  the  break  of  day.  About  this  time,  Christian,  putting  his 
hand  into  his  bosom  found  a  key;  upon  this  discovery,  he  exclaimed, 
"What  a  fool  I  am,  to  remain  in  this  filthy  dungeon,  when  I  might 
be  at  liberty!     I  have  a  key  in  my  bosom,  called  Promise,  which 


54  THE  ciiristia:n'  pilgeim. 

will  open  any  door  in  Doubting  Castle."  On  this  good  news,  they 
made  a  trial  of  the  key  at  their  dungeon  door,  and  the  bolt  was 
turned  back  with  ease ;  while  they  wore  unlocking  the  outer  gate, 
it  made  such  a  creaking  that  it  waked  Giant  Despair,  who  hastily 
rising  to  pursue  his  2:)risoners,  felt  his  limbs  to  fail,  so  that  he  could 
not  go  after  them.  The  Pilgrims  directed  their  course  to  the  king's 
highway,  v/hich,  having  gained,  they  sang  as  follows : 

"Out  of  the  way  we  went,  and  then  we  found 
"What  'twas  to  tread  upon  forbidden  ground; 
And  let  them  that  come  after  have  a  care 
Lest  heedlessness  make  them  as  we  to  fare, 
Lest  they,  for  trespassing,  his  prisoners  are, 
"Whose  castle's  Doubting,  and  whose  name's  Despair." 

The  recollection  of  past  conflicts,  dan-  begin  to  pray  and  call  on  Grod  in  earn- 

gers,    and    escapes   is  peculiarly  useful  est,  they  will  soon  find  the  A'ey  0/ Prom- 

to  encourage  those  who  are  in  difficult  ise,   which   will   unlock    every   bolt   or 

or   perilous   situations,    to    have   confi-  bar  which  confines  them    in   Doubting 

dence  in  the  power  and  mercy  of  G-od  Castle,  and  they  will    soon  walk  in  the 

for  final  deliverance.     When  Christians  liberty  of  the  sons  of  God. 

The  Delectable  Mountains.  The  Hills  Error,  Caution,  and  Clear. 
The  Pilgrims  went  on  until  they  arrived  at  the  "  Delectable  Mount- 
ains," which  belong  to  the  Lord  of  the  Hill,  already  mentioned, 
whose  sides  were  interspersed  with  beautiful  gardens,  fertile  vine- 
yards, and  fountains  of  purcigt  water,  from  all  of  which  the}^  were 
plentifully  refreshed.  On  the  to2;)s  of  these  mountains  there  were 
shepherds  feeding  their  flocks.  On  inquiry,  they  were  informed  that 
the  mountains  were  ImmanueVs  Land.  The  names  of  these  shepherds 
were  Knowledge,  Experience,  Watchful,  and  Sincere,  who,  wishing 
to  show  the  Pilgrims  some  remarkable  things  in  the  vicinity,  first 
took  them  to  the  top  of  a  hill,  called  Error,  when  they  saw  at  the 
bottom  a  number  of  men  dashed  to  pieces  by  a  fall  from  the  top. 
On  inquiring  the  meaning  of  this,  they  were  informed  that  they 
were  men  who,  confiding  too  much  in  themselves,  had  ventured  too 
near  the  precipice  and  tell,  and  continued  unburied  as  an  example 
to  others. 

They  were  then  taken  to  another  mountain  called  Caution,  where 
they  thought  they  perceived  several  men  wandering  among  the 
tombs,  over  which  they  stumbled,  and  being  blind  could  not  get  out 
from  among  them.  These  were  men  who,  turning  from  the  right 
path,  had  got  into  By-path  Meadows,  where  they  were  taken  by 
Giant  Despair  and  cast  into  Doubting  Castle,  and  after  he  had  kept 


THE    CHEISTIAN    PILGEIi^I.  55 

them  for  awhile,  put  out  their  eyes  and  led  them  among  those  tombs, 
where  they  were  left  to  wander,  fulfilling  the  saying  of  the  wise 
man,  "  He  that  w^andereth  out  of  the  way  of  understanding,  shall 
remain  in  the  congregation  of  the  dead."  After  this,  they  were 
taken  to  see  the  place  called  the  "By-way  to  Perdition,"  which,  hav- 
ing seen,  they  walked  with  the  shepherds  to  the  end  of  the  mount- 
ain. "Then,"  said  the  shepherds,  one  to  another,  "Let  us  here 
show  to  the  Pilgrims  the  Gates  of  the  Celestial  City,  if  they  have 
skill  to  look  through  our  perspective  glass."  The  Pilgrims  then 
lovingly  accepted  the  motion,  so  they  had  them  to  the  top  of  an 
high  hill,  called  Clear,  and  gave  them  their  glass  to  look,  through 
which  they  perceived  something  like  the  Gate  of  the  Celestial  City. 

.  The  Delectable  Mountains  may  rep-  signifies  any  kind  of  sentiment  or  doc- 
resent  the  calm  seasons  of  peace  and  trine  which,  favors  unwatchfulness  or 
comfort  which  consistent  belieyers  often  sin.  The  men  seen  wandering  among 
experience  in  their  old  age,  when  they  tombs  shows  the  state  of  those  who 
are  exempted,  in  a  considerable  degree,  have  gone  into  forbidden  paths,  and 
from  previous  temptations  and  trials,  continuing  therein,  being  blinded  by 
The  shepherds  may  represent  the  faith-  Satan,  they  remain  with  their  wicked 
ful  ministers  and  Christians  with  whom  companions, 
they  are    associated.     The   hill   Error 

The  Pilgrims  meet  ivitJi  Ignorance.  Proceeding  from  the  mountains 
along  the  highway,  toward  the  Celestial  City,  the  Pilgrims  came  to 
a  little  crooked  lane,  which  led  into  the  road  from  the  country  of 
Conceit.  Here  they  met  with  a  very  brisk  lad,  who  came  out  of  that 
country,  whose  name  was  Ignorance,  who  informed  them  he  was 
going  to  the  Celestial  City.  When  Christian  asked  him  what  he 
had  to  show  in  order  to  get  admission  at  the  Gate,  he  replied,  "I 
know  my  Lord's  will,  have  been  a  good  liver;  I  pay  every  man  his 
own ;  I  pray,  fast,  pay  tithes,  give  alms,"  etc.  Christian  then  told 
him  that  he  did  not  come  in  at  the  Wicket  Gate,  which  was  neces- 
sary for  all  who  would  travel  on  the  king's  highway.  Ignorance  re- 
plied, "  Gentlemen,  you  are  utter  strangers  to  me  ;  be  content  to  fol- 
low the  religion  of  your  country,  and  I  will  follow  the  religion  of 
mine.  I  hope  all  will  be  well.  For  the  Gate  you  speak  of,  every 
one  knows  that  it  is  a  great  distance  from  our  country."  The  Pil- 
grims perceiving  that  Ignorance  was  wise  in  his  own  conceit,  thought 
it  best  to  pass  him  by  for  the  present. 

Ignorance  represents  a  class  of  shal-  ambitious  of  being  thought  religious, 
low  and    conceited    persons,    who    are    and   are    continually  found  among  thd 


56 


THE    CHRISTIAN    PILGEIM 


HOSEA, 

Chap,  xiv: 
verse  7. 


EPHESIANS, 

Chap,  ii : 
verse  6. 


PSALM 

iv: 

verses  7,  8. 


HEBREWS, 
Chap,  xi : 
verse  13. 


PSALM 

cxiv: 

verse  II. 


jlMouiitaiiis  delectable  they  now  asceiid^^j 
JWhere  a^lieiAsl3e,\«*udit@uieiaao  cciiimaii 
lAlhitin^  thinw^ancl  tliiiis'S  tliatt cautious  area 


PSALM 

xxiii : 
verses  I,  2. 


MARK, 

Chap,  ix : 

verse  5. 


ISAIAH, 

Chap,  iv : 

verse  6. 


PSALM 

Ixxii: 

verse  3. 


ISAIAH, 

Chap,  xlix 
verse  II. 


"  Then  said  the  Shepherds  one  to  another.  Let  us  here  show  to  the  Pilgrims 
the  Gate  of  the  Celestial  City,  if  they  have  skill  to  look  through  our  ^perspective 
glass.  The  Pilgrims  then  lovingly  accepted  the  motion;  so  they  had  them  to 
the  top  of  an  high  hill,  called  Clear,  and  gave  them  their  glass  to  look." 


M 


THE    CHEISTIAN    PILGRIM.  57 

hearers  of  the  gospel.     A  blindness  to  with  persons  of  this  stamp,  but,  after  a 

their  defects   and   a   forward  self-suffi-  few  warnings,  leave  them  to  their  own 

ciency  marks  their  chai-acter.     It  is  ad-  reflections,    and    quietly   look    to    the 

visable  not  to  converse   much  at    once  results. 

Turn-aivay  and  Little  Faith.  After  the  Pilgrims  had  passed,  they 
came  to  a  dark  lane,  where  they  met  a  man  whom  seven  demons  had 
bound  with  cords,  and  were  carrying  him  to  the  pit  of  Destruction. 
The  sight  made  Christian,  and  Hopeful  tremble.  As  the  demons 
were  taking  away  the  man.  Christian  looked  to  see  if  he  knew  him, 
and  he  thought  it  might  be  one  Turn-aioay,  that  dwelt  in  the  town 
of  AjMstasi/.  As  he  hung  his  head  like  a  thief,  he  did  not  per- 
fectly see  his  face.  But  being  gone  past,  Hopeful  looked  after  him, 
and  spied  on  his  back  w^ith  this  inscription,  "Wanton  professor, 
and  condemned  Apostate." 

Christian  now  related  to  his  comj^anion  a  certain  transaction  which 
occurred  to  a  good  man  near  this  place.  His  name  was  Little- faith; 
but  he  was  a  Christian,  and  dwelt  in  the  town  of  Sincere.  The  thing 
was  this :  At  the  entering  in  of  the  passage  of  a  lane  near  this, 
called  Dead-man's  Lane,  because  of  the  many  murders  committed 
there,  this  Little-faith,  who  was  going  on  a  j^ilgi'ini'^ge,  chanced 
to  sit  down  there,  and  slept.  AMiile  in  this  situation,  three  rogues, 
w^ho  w^ere  brothers.  Faint-heart,  Mistrust,  and  Guilt,  came  \\\)0\\  him, 
and  told  him  to  deliver  his  money.  Kot  obeying,  Mistrust  came  up, 
and  thrusting  into  his  pocket,  took  out  a  purse  of  silver.  Little- 
fiiith  cried  out,  "Thieves!  thieves!"  With  that  Guilt  struck  him 
to  the  ground.  At  last,  hearing  that  some  were  coming  on  the  road, 
fearing  it  might  be  Grreat-grace,  that  dwells  in  the  city  of  Good- 
confidence,  they  immediately  fled. 

The    dark    lane    signifies  a  time    of  than  ever  in  the  cords  of  sin  and  delu- 

prevalent  impiety.     At  such  times  light,  sion.     Where   there    is  a  faint-heart  in 

trifling,  wanton   professors  of  religion  God's  cause,  and  m/sfrw-sf  of  God's  truths, 

may  appear,  Avho  often  prove  apostates  there  will  be    guilt   in    the  conscience, 

of  the  worst  kind,  and  the  detection  of  and  Avhcn  these  prevail,  they   rob   tho 

their  hypocrisy  makes    them    ashamed  soul,  for  a  time,  of  tho  comforts  of  God'a 

to  show  their  faces  among  true  believ-  love  and  salvation, 
ers.     Satan  binds  such  wretches  faster 

The  Pilgrims  taken  in  Flatterer's  Xet.  The  Pilgrinis  continuing 
their  journey,  came  to  a  road  which  appeared  to  run  in  a  direct  lino 
with  that  on  which  they  were  traveling.  As  they  were  thinking 
which  of  the  two  to  take,  a  black  man,  covered  with  a  very  white 
robe,  came  up  and  inquired  why  they  stood  there?     They  replied 


58  THE    CHRISTIAN    PILGEIM. 

they  were  going  to  the  Celestial  City,  and  knew  not  which  road 
to  take.  He  then  desired  them  to  follow  him,  for  he  was  going 
there  himself;  so  they  went  with  him,  and,  by  degrees,  were  led 
into  a  road  which  carried  them  directly  from  the  city,  and,  at  last, 
before  they  were  aware  of  it,  they  were  encompassed  with  a  net,  in 
which  they  were  so  entangled  that  they  knew  not  what  to  do  ;  and 
with  that  the  white  robe  fell  off  the  black  man's  back.  As  they 
were  bewailing  themselves  in  the  net,  they  espied  a  Shining  One 
coming  toward  them  with  a  scourge  in  his  hand.  When  he  came 
up  to  the  Pilgrims,  he  asked  why  they  came  there  ?  They  told  him 
they  were  traveling  on  the  pilgrim's  road,  but  were  led  out  of  their 
way  by  a  black  man  clothed  in  white.  The  Shining  One  then  told 
them  that  it  was  "Flatterer,"  a  false  apostle,  that  had  transformed 
himself  into  an  angel  of  light.  So  he  rent  the  net.  On  his  ques- 
tioning them,  it  appeared  they  had  gone  contrary  to  the  directions 
which  had  been  given  them  by  the  shepherds  on  the  Delectable 
Mountains,  who  had  told  them  to  "  beware  of  the  Flatterer."  As 
they  had  disobeyed  their  counselors,  they  were  chastised  by  the 
Shining  One,  who  bade  them  to  go  on  with  their  journey. 

The   black   man,  with  a  white  robe  liberties    and  privileges  they  are   per. 

represents  those    teachers    who,    with  niitted,   etc.     By  this    means  will    men 

much   plausibility,   fluency   of   speech,  enter  into  security,  being  entangled  in 

and   perhaps    very    evangelical   views,  a   net   of  error    and    difiiculty.     When 

flatter  their  hearers   into  a  high  opin-  the  Lord  takes  them  out  of  the  snare, 

ion    of  the    righteous    character   they  they  will  be  humbled  and  chastised  for 

have,  and  high   attainments   to  which  their  folly, 
they  have    arrived,  with  the   religious 

The  Pilgrims  meet  Atheist.  As  the  Pilgrims  proceeded  on  their 
journey,  they  perceived  a  man  afar  off  and  alone,  on  the  highway, 
coming  to  meet  them.  His  name  was  Atheist,  and  he  was  travel- 
ing with  his  back  toward  Zion.  When  he  came  up  with  the  pil- 
grims, he  asked  them  where  they  were  going.  Upon  Christian's 
replying  that  they  were  going  to  Mount  Zion,  Atheist  burst  into  a 
loud  laugh;  and  being  asked  what  he  meant  by  such  conduct,  re- 
plied that  he  laughed  to  see  what  ignorant  persons  they  were  to 
take  such  a  journey  for  nothing.  "Why,  man,"  said  Christian, 
"do  you  not  think  that  we  shall  be  received?"  "Received!"  said 
Atheist;  "  there  is  no  such  as  you  dream  of.  When  I  was  in  my  own 
country,  I  heard  of  such  a  place  as  you  now  speak  of,  and  I  have 
been  seekng  it  for  twenty  years,  but  I  find  no  more  of  it  than  I  did 
the  first  day  I  set  out.     I  am  now  going  back  to  enjoy  the  things  I 


THE    CHRISTIAN    PILGRIM.  59 

know  something  about,  instead  of  running  after  that  which  has  no 
existence." 

Some  professors  who  set  oiit  on  a  re-  enced  those  effects  which  the  Scriptures 
ligious  course  with  a  dead  faith  and  a  ascribe  to  it.  Having  principalh'  as- 
Worldly  heart,  and,  having  gone  on  this  sociated  with  loose  professors,  and"  wit- 
course  for  a  considerable  time,  become  nessed  much  folly  and  wickedness 
avowed  infidels  or  atheists,  they  hate  among  them,  they  begin  to  revile  all 
the  truth  and  feel  that  if  there  be  any  who  profess  piety,  and  treat  the  whole 
reality  in  religion,  their  own  case  is  of  religion  as  mere  knavery  and  im- 
desperate,  as  they  have  never  exjieri-  posture. 

Enchanted  Ground.  The  Pilgrims  now  reached  a  country,  the  air 
of  which  had  a  tendency  to  make  one  drowsy,  if  he  came  a  stranger 
into  it.  And  here  Hopeful  began  to  be  very  dull  and  heavy  of 
sleep.  He  told  Christian  that  he  felt  sleepy,  and  could  hardly  keep 
awake.  He  said  to  Christian  that  they  both  should  lie  down  and 
sleep  for  a  short  time.  "By  no  means,"  said  Christian,  "lest 
sleeping  we  never  wake  more.  Do  you  not  remember  what  was 
told  us  by  the  shepherds,  that  we  should  beware  of  the  Enchanted' 
Ground?  W6  are  now  on  this  ground.  Wherefore  let  us  not  slee]i 
as  do  others,  but  let  us  watch  and  be  sober."  Hopeful  acknowledged 
himself  to  be  in  fault,  and  had  he  been  alone,  he  feared  it  might 
have  proved  fatal,  and  he  felt  that  the  saying  of  the  wise  man  was 
true,  "Two  are  better  than  one."  The  two  Pilgrims  now  agreed,  to 
prevent  drowsiness,  they  would  enter  into  some  interesting  and  profit- 
able conversation.  Hopeful  then  related  how  he  was  first  induced  to 
become  a  pilgrim  ;  how  he  at  first  tried  to  make  his  heart  good,  but 
found  it  was  of  no  avail ;  that  all  his  righteousness  was  but  filth v 
rags ;  how,  when  he  called  on  God,  as  a  poor  lost  creature,  and  looked 
directly  to  Christ  to  save  him,  he  was  received  and  made  whole,  and 
had  23eace  and  joy  in  believing. 

"When  all  things  go  easy,  smooth,  and  awake  almost  against  his  will.  He  is, 
well,  we  are  prone  to  grow  drowsy  in  in  a  sense,  enchanted  in  his  situation, 
soul  and  indolent  in  religious  matters,  which  is  a  treacherous  calm,  Avhich  in- 
although  we  may  keep  up  the  forms  of  vites  and  lulls  him  to  sleep.  But  pious 
devotion.  No  situation  requires  so  discourse,  and  the  jealous  caution  of 
much  watchfulness.  Other  experiences  Christian  friends  are  suited  to  counter- 
resemble    storms,   which  keeji    a   man  act  this  dangerous  tendency. 

Discourse  tvith  Ignorance.  As  Ignorance  was  lagging  behind,  the 
Pilgrims,  wishing  to  instruct  him,  waited  until  he  came  up.  Chris- 
tian then  asked  him  how  it  was  now  between  God  and  his  soul. 


60  THE    CHEISTIAK    PILGEIM. 

Ignorance,  in  reply,  said,  "  I  hope  well,  for  I  am  always  full  of  good 
motions,  as  I  often  think  of  Grod  and  Heaven,  and  desire  them," 
Christian  replied  that  there  was  nothing  good  about  that,  for  even 
devils  and  lost  spirits  did  the  same;  mere  sluggish  desires  effect 
nothing.  Ignorance  thought  his  heart  was  good,  for  it  comforted 
him  in  hopes  of  heaven.  Christian  told  him  that  the  heart  was 
deceitful,  and  if  we  did  not  love  God  and  keep  his  commandments, 
all  our  hopes  were  vain.  Ignorance  said  that  he  believed  that 
Christ  died  for  sinners ;  and  that  he  would  make  his  duties,  that 
were  religious,  acceptable  to  the  Father,  by  virtue  of  his  merits, 
and  so  would  he  be  justified.  In  short,  Ignorance  could  not  believe 
he  ever  had  a  very  bad  heart,  and,  upon  the  whole,  he  had  been  a 
tolerably  righteous  man,  and  needed  but  very  little  of  Christ's 
merits  for  salvation. 

"Whatever  may  be  our  desires  or  ex-  ever  founds  his  hope  of  heaven  on   his 

pectntions  of  a  religious    nature,    they  supposed  goodness  of  heart,  that  he  is 

avail  us  nothing  unless  they  flow  from  not  so  bad  as  others,  is  ignorant  of  the 

an  humble  and  contrite  spirit.     Who-  way  of  salvation. 

The  Country  of  Beulah.  After  the  Pilgrims  had  got  past  the  En- 
chanted Ground,  they  came  into  the  country  of  Beulah,  whose  air 
was  very  sweet  and  pleasant,  the  way  lying  directly  through  it. 
Here  they  were  continually  delighted  with  the  singing  of  birds,  and 
walked  every  day  through  a  profusion  of  beautiful  and  sweet-scented 
flowers.  In  this  country,  light  from  heaven  shines  every  day, 
therefore  it  is  beyond  the  Valley  of  the  Shadow  of  Death,  and  out 
of  the  reach  of  Giant  Despair;  neither  could  they  from  this  place 
so  much  as  see  the  Doubting  Castle.  Here  they  were  in  sight  of 
the  Celestial  City ;  and  here,  also,  they  met  some  of  its  inhabitants ; 
for  in  this  land  the  Shining  Ones  walked,  because  it  was  near  the 
borders  of  Heaven.  Here  was  no  want  of  corn  or  wine,  for  in  this 
place  they  met  with  every  thing  they  had  wished  during  their  pil- 
grimage. As  they  drew  near  the  city  they  had  a  more  perfect  view, 
and  saw  it  was  built  of  pearls  and  precious  stones,  and  that  the 
streets  were  paved  with  gold.  Proceeding  still  further  on  their 
way,  they  came  to  a  place  abounding  with  orchards,  vineyards,  and 
gardens.  Upon  inquiring  of  the  gardener  whose  they  were,  they 
Avere  informed  that  they  were  the  king's,  for  whose  pleasure  and 
entertainment  they  were  planted.  They  were  accordingly  invited 
in  to  partake  of  every  thing  they  could  wish.  They  were  also 
shown  the  king's  walks  and  arbors,  where  he  delighted  to  be,  and 


THE    CHEISTIAN    PILGEI.M.  Gl 

here  they  tarried  and  slept.  When  the}  awoke,  they  prepared  to 
go  uj)  to  the  city.  Such  was  the  splendor  reflected  by  the  rays  of 
the  sun,  they  were  obliged  to  look  through  an  instrument  made  for 
the  purpose. 

The  country  of  Beulah   may   signify  sion  of  the  ministering  spirits  over  the 

the   sweet  i)eace  and  confidence  which  heirs  of  salvation;  sweet  assurances  of 

tried  believers  often  experience  toward  the  love  of  Christ,    gratitude,    submis- 

^the  close  of  their  lives.     The  commun-  sion,  confidence   in  Grod,  hope,  and  the 

ion    of  saints    united   in    cordial    love,  sweet  exercise  of  tenderness,  sympathy, 

the    consolations   of    the   Holy   Spirit,  meekness  and    humility,   but   little  in- 

exemption    from  temptations  and  bar-  terrupted  by  the  working   of  the  con- 

rassing  doubts,  near  prospects  of  heav-  trarj^  evils,  these  things  seem    to  con- 

enly  felicity,  and  a  realizing  apjDrehen-  stitute  the  happy  state  here  represented. 

-  The  Pilgrims  pass,  the  Biver.  The  Pilgrims,  after  leaving  the  land 
of  Beulah,  came  to  the  deep  and  dark  river  over  which  there  was 
no  bridge,  at  the  sight  of  which  they  were  much  disheartened.  As 
there  was  no  way  to  the  Celestial  Gate  but  by  crossing  the  river, 
they  inquired  if  the  waters  were  all  of  an  equal  de23th;  they  were 
informed  that  they  would  find  it  deeper  or  shallower,  as  they  be- 
lieved in  the  king  of  the  place.  They  then  entered  into  the  waters, 
when  Christian  began  to  sink,  and  crying  to  his  friend  Hopeful,  he 
said,  "I  sink  in  deep  w^aters ;  the  billows  go  over  my  head;  all  his 
waves  go  over  me."  But  Hopeful  bade  him  be  of  good  cheer,  for 
that  he  felt  the  bottom,  and  that  it  was  good. 

"Alas,  my  friend,"  replied  Christian,  "the  sorrows  of  death  com- 
passed, I  shall  not  see  the  land  that  floweth  with  milk  and  honey." 
Such  a  darkness  and  horror  then  fell  upon  Christian  that  he  could 
not  see  before  him,  and  he  became  so  disordered  in  mind  that  he 
could  not  remember  nor  orderly  talk  of  any  of  those  sweet  refresh- 
ments that  he  had  met  with  in  the  way  of  his  pilgrimage;  but 
every  word  he  uttered  tended  to  discover  that  he  had  great  fear 
that  he  shoidd  die  in  the  river,  and  never  obtain  entrance  at  the  gate. 
He  was  also  troubled  at  the  remembrance  of  the  sins  he  had  com- 
mitted, both  since  and  before  he  became  a  pilgrim.  'Twas  also  ob- 
served that  he  was  troubled  with  apparitions  of  evil  spirits.  It  was 
with  great  difficulty  that  Hopeful  could  keep  his  brother's  head 
above  water,  but  he  endeavored  to  comfort  him  by  telling  him  that 
he  saw  the  gate,  and  men  standing  by  to  receive  them.  He  also 
informed  him  that  the  troubles  and  distresses  he  had  gone  through 
in  those  waters  were  no  sign  that  God  had  forsaken  him,  but  were 
sent  to  try  him. 


62  THE    CHEISTIAN    PILGEIM. 

These  comforting  exhortations  had  the  desired  effect  on  the  de- 
jected mind  of  Christian.  He  was  in  a  muse  for  awhile,  but  when 
Hopeful  added  this  word,  "  Be  of  good  cheer,  Jesus  Christ  makcth 
thee  whole,"  Christian  broke  out  with  a  loud  A'oice,  "Oh,  I  see  him 
'again!  and  he  tells  me,  'When  thou  passeth  through  the  waters,  I 
will  be  with  thee  ;  and  rivers,  they  shall  not  overflow  thee.'  "  Then 
they  both  took  courage ;  Christian  soon  found  ground  to  stand  on, 
and  the  rest  of  the  river  being  but  shallow,  they  soon  got  over. 

Death  is  hero  most  aptly  represented  dark,  cold  and  noisome  grave  renders 
by  a  deep  river,  without  a  bridge,  sepa-  Death  indeed  the  King  of  Terrors.  The 
rating  the  Pilgrims  from  their  heavenly  temporary  distresses  of  dying  believers 
inheritance,  as  Jordan  separated  the  often  arise  from  bodily  disease.  How- 
children  of  Israel  from  the  promised  soever  far  the  powers  of  Darkness  may 
land.  Xature  must  indeed  shrink  back  be  suffered  to  prevail  in  the  Christian's 
at  the  awful  separation  of  sonl  and  body,  last  conflict,  he  generally,  before  Icav- 
and  the  parting  of  dear  friends  and  every  ing  the  body,  gives  evidence  of  the  final 
earthly  object;  the  gloomy  ideas  of  the  victory. 

Pilgrims  conducted  up  to  the  City.  When  the  Pilgrims  came  upon 
the  bank  of  the  river,  on  the  other  side,  they  found  two  shining  men 
waiting  for  them,  who  saluted  them,  saying,  "We  are  ministering 
spirits,  sent  forth  to  minister  for  those  that  shall  be  heirs  of  salva 
tion."  Thus  they  went  along  toward  the  gate.  JVow  you  must  note 
that  the  city  stood  upon  a  mighty  hill,  but  the  Pilgrims  went  up  that 
hill  with  ease,  because  they  had  these  two  men  to  lead  them  up  by 
the  arms ;  they  had  likewise  left  their  mortal  garments  behind  them 
in  the  river ;  for  though  they  went  in  with  them,  they  came  out  with- 
out them.  They  therefore  went  up  here  with  much  agility  and  speed, 
though  the  foundation  upon  which  the  city  was  framed  was  higher 
than  the  clouds  ;  they  therefore  went  up  through  the  region  of  the  air, 
sweetly  talking  as  they  went,  being  comforted  because  they  safely  got 
over  the  river,  and  had  such  glorious  companions  to  attend  them. 
As  they  passed  upward,  their  conductors  told  them  that  the  beauty 
and  glory  of  the  city  was  inexpressible.  "There,"  said  they,  "is 
Mount  Zion,  the  heavenly  Jerusalem,  the  innumerable  company  of 
angels,  and  the  spirits  of  just  men  made  perfect.  You  are  going 
now,"  said  they,  "to  the  Paradise  of  Grod,  wdierein  you  shall  see  the 
Tree  of  Life,  and  taste  the  never-fading  fruits  thereof;  upon  your 
arrival  you  shall  be  clothed  in  white  robes,  and  be  every  day  ad- 
mitted to  the  company  and  conversation  of  the  King.  There  shall 
be  no  more  experience  of  that  sorrow,  sickness,  affliction,  and  death 
which  you  have  on  earth:  you  are  now  going  to  Abraham,  Isaac, 


THE    CHRISTIAN    PILGEIM. 


63 


HEBREWS, 
Chap,  i : 
verse  14. 


LUKE, 

Chap,  xvi: 
verse  22. 


I  THESS. 

Chap,  iv: 
verse  14. 


REVELATION, 

Chap,  xix: 

verse  9. 


HEBREWS, 
Chap,  xii: 
verse  22. 


[Now  now- look  how  the  holy  Pilgrims  ride,! 
r  Clouds  avetheit  Chariots,  Angels  ate  their  Guide y 
tWho  woiQd  not  here  for  him  allHazaids  ruar- 
blhat.tlius  ptojifes  for  hiniA>AieatlusWqiLds  done]  j 


REVELATION, 

Chap,  xxii : 
verse  14. 


REVELATION, 
Chap,  vii : 
verse  17. 


JOHN, 

Chap,  xvii 
verse  2. 


TIMOTHY, 
Chap,  iv: 
verse  8. 


ROMANS, 
Chap,  ii: 
verse  7. 


*'  They  therefore,  went  vp  here  with  much  agility  and  speed,  though  the  founda- 
tion upon  which  the  City  was  framed  ivas  higher  than  the  clouds;  they  there- 
fore went  up  through  the  regions  of  the  air,  sweetly  talking  as  they  went,  being 
comforted,  because  they  safely  got  over  the  river,  and  had  such  glorious  com- 
panions to  attend  them.'' 


17 


64  THE    CHEISTIAN    PILGEIM. 

and  Jacob,  and  to  the  j)rophets,  men  that  God  has  taken  away  from 
the  evil  to  come,  each  one  walking  in  his  uprightness." 

The  Pilgrims,  inquiring  what  they  were  to  do  in  this  holy  place, 
they  were  answered  that  there  they  would  receive  the  con^forts  of 
all  their  toil,  and  joy  for  all  their  sorrow ;  they  would  reap  what 
they  had  sown,  even  the  fruit  of  all  their  prayers,  tears,  and  suffer- 
ing for  the  king  on  their  way.  In  that  place  you  will  wear  crowns 
of  gold,  and  enjoy  the  perpetual  sight  and  vision  of  the  Holy  One, 
and  serve  him  continually  with  praise,  shouting,  and  thanksgiving. 
There  they  would  have  the  pleasure  of  meeting  those  friends  who 
had  gone  there  before  them,  and  receive  with  joy  those  that  should 
follow  after  them.  When  the  King  of  Glory  shall  come,  with  t];ie 
sound  of  trumpet,  you  will  come  with  him,  and  you  will  sit  with 
him,  and  have  a  voice  in  the  judgment  against  his  and  your  enemies. 

While  they  were  thus  drawing  toward  the  Gate,  a  company  of 
the  heavenly  host  came  out  to  meet  them,  to  whom  the  Shining  Ones 
introduced  the  Pilgrims,  saying,  "  These  are  the  men  who  have 
loved  our  Lord,  when  they  were  in  the  world,  and  have  left  all  for 
his  holy  name ;  and  he  hath  sent  us  to  fetch  them,  so  that  they  may 
go  in,  and  look  their  Redeemer  in  the  face,  with  joy.  Then  the 
heavenly  host  gave  a  great  shout,  saying,  "Blessed  are  they  that 
are  called  to  the  'marriage-supper  of  the  Lamb.'"  Then  there 
came  out  several  of  the  king's  trumpeters,  who  came  in  white  and 
shining  raiment,  who  made  even  the  heavens  to  echo  with  the  loud 
and  melodious  sounds  of  the  trumpets.  They  then  compassed  them 
around  on  every  side,  and  thus  conducted  them  to  the  upper  regions. 
Here,  also,  they  had  the  city  itself  in  view,  and  their  ears  were 
delighted  with  the  ringing  of  all  the  bells  to  welcome  them.  But, 
above  all,  the  thought  of  their  dwelling  forever  and  ever  in  that 
glorious  place,  what  tongue  can  tell  the  joy?  Thus  they  came  up 
to  the  Gate. 

Immediately  after  death,  the  Pilgrims  angelic  beings,  as  was  Lazarus  when  he 

are  conducted  by  angels  up  to  the  Ce-  was  carried  to  Abraham's  bosom.     The 

lestial  City,  or  Paradise,   and  we  have  conversation  of  those  angelic  beings  is 

every  reason  to  believe  that  every  be-  entirely  scriptural,  intelligible,  anima- 

liever,    at   his   death,    is    attended   by  ting  to  every  pious  mind. 

The  Pilgrims  enter  the  City.  Fate  of  Ignorance.  When  the  Pil- 
grims came  up  to  the  Gate,  they  beheld  written  over  it,  "Blessed 
are  they  that  do  his  commandments,  that  they  may  have  a  right 
to  the  tree  of  life,  and  may  enter  in  through  the  gates  into  the 


THE    CHEISTIAN    PILGEIM.  65 

city."  The  Shining  Ones  then  bade  them  call  at  the  Gate,  which, 
when  they  had  done,  some  of  the  heavenly  inhabitants  looked  over 
the  Gate  from  above,  to  whom  it  was  said,  "These  Pilgrims  came 
from  the  City  of  Destruction,  for  the  love  they  bear  to  the  King  of 
this  place."  The  Pilgrims  then  delivered  the  certificates  they  had 
received  at  the  beginning  of  their  journey.  When  these  were  re- 
ceived by  the  King,  he  commanded  the  gate  to  be  opened,  "that 
the  righteous  who  kept  the  truth  might  enter." 

As  the  two  Pilgrims  entered  the  Gate,  they  were  transfigured, 
and  had  raiment  put  upon  them  that  shone  like  gold ;  they  had 
crowns  given  them  in  token  of  honor,  and  harps  to  sound  the  praises 
of  the  King.  The  bells  of  the  city  rang  for  joy,  and  numerous 
voices  were  heard  to  say,  "Enter  ye  into  the  joy  of  your  Lord." 
The  Pilgrims  themselves  sung  with  a  loud  voice,  "  Blessing,  honor, 
glory,  and  power  be  to  Him  that  sitteth  upon  the  throne,  and  to 
the  Lamb  forever  and  ever." 

While  these  things  were  taking  place,  Ignorance  was  seen  to  come 
to  the  river-side,  without  half  the  difficulty  which  the  two  Pilgrims 
had  experienced,  as  he  was  ferried  over  in  a  boat  by  one  called 
Vain-hope.  When  he  came  up  to  the  Gate,  he  was  asked  from 
whence  he  came,  and  what  he  would  have.  He  answered  that  he 
had  ate  and  drank  in  the  presence  of  the  King,  and  that  he  had 
taught  in  their  streets.  When  asked  for  his  Certificate,  he  w^as 
speechless.  The  King  then  commanded  two  Shining  Ones  to  bind 
him  and  take  him  away,  and  cast  him  into  darkness. 

So  I  awoke,  and  behold  it  was  a  dream. 

The  certificates  which  the   Pilgrims  degree   of  composure  and   resignation, 

presented  at  the  Gate,  signifies  the  in-  under   the     delusion   of  a    vain    hope, 

ward  testimony  of  pardon  and  accept-  They    may  even  believe  a  lie  till  they 

ance  which    Christians    have    received  arrive  at  the  gate  of  the  Heavenly  City, 

from  their  divine  Lord  and  Master,  an-  But  the  Supreme  Lord   and    Judge  will 

Bwering  to  the  EoU  presented  to   Chris-  say  unto  all    such,    "Depart   from  me, 

tian  when  he  lost  his    burden    at  the  I  never  knew  you,  all   you  that  work 

Cross.     It  is  quite  possible  that  persons  iniquity."    May  the  good  Lord  deliver 

who  have  lived  an  inconsistent  or  even  us    from   such  a  hope  and  destiny;  but 

disgraceful  life  to  their  Christian  pro-  may  we,  like  the  Christian  Pilgrims,  be 

fession,  may    die   with  a    considerable  admitted  into  the  joy  of  our  Lord. 


This  picture  is  drawn  from  the  Frontispiece  to  the  second  part  of  the 
Pilgrim's  Progress,  from  the  edition  of  1687,  the  year  previous  to  the 
decease  of  the  '■'■Immortal  Dreamer^  Bunyan  appears  dreaming  the 
second  time.  Christiana,  with  her  children  and  Mercy,  are  leaving  the  City 
of  Destruction  and  going  toward  the  Wicket  Gate.  The  enemy  who  tried 
to  stop  their  pathway  is  seen  in  the  distance. 

(68) 


THE  CHRISTIAN  PILGRIM. 


PART    SECOND. 


Sagacity  gives  an  account  of  Christian.  Some  time  after  the  dream 
I  had  of  Christian,  the  Pilgrim,  while  in  a  den,  I  passed  that  way 
again.  I  took  up  my  lodging  in  a  wood  about  a  mile  off  the  place. 
As  I  slept,  I  dreamed  again.  I  saw  in  my  dream,  an  aged  gentle- 
man. Sagacity  by  name,  come  by  where  I  was,  and  as  we  were 
going  to  the  same  place,  I  resolved  to  go  with  him.  As  we  were 
passing  the  City  of  Destruction,  Sagacity  informed  me  of  Christian, 
the  Pilgrim,  who  once  resided  there,  but  was  induced  to  go  on  a 
pilgrimage  up  to  the  higher  regions.  When  he  left  the  city,  his 
neighbors  ran  after  him,  called  him  a  fool,  and  tried  to  have  him 
come  back;  but  it  all  was  of  no  avail,  as  Christian  pressed  forward 
and  upward.  After  many  trials,  difficulties,  and  dangers,  he  finally 
entered  into  that  region  where  all  trouble  is  unknown.  He  now 
walks  in  white,  and  has  a  crown  of  gold.  He  walks  and  talks  with 
the  King  of  the  country,  who  has  adopted  him  as  a  son,  and  who 
has  prepared  a  mansion  for  his  dwelling.  It  is  now  said  that  his 
former  neighbors,  by  whom  he  was  so  much  persecuted,  now  com- 
mend him,  and  wish  they  had  gone  with  him. 

The  first  part  of  the  Pilgrim's  Prog-  is  well  worthy  of  attention.  It  often 
ress  was  written  in  Bedford  jail,  as  has  happens  when  the  real  Christian  de- 
been  noted;  the  second,  several  years  parts  this  life,  that  the  men  of  the 
afterward,  most  probably  at  his  home  world  who  stigmatized  him  when  living, 
in  Elstow,  a  village  about  one  mile  will,  after  he  has  departed,  speak  well 
from  Bedford,  which  he  designates  as  of  him,  and  lament  their  own  folly  in 
a  "lodging  in  the  wood."  The  first  is  not  living  a  Christian  life, 
the  most  complete,  but  the  second  part 

(69) 


70  THE    CHRISTIAX    PILGRIM. 

Christian's  Wife  and  Children  become  Pilgrims,  Christiana,  the  wife 
of  Christian  (so  named  after  she  had  commenced  her  pilgrimage), 
after  her  husband  had  gone  over  the  River,  and  she  could  hear  of 
him  no  more,  many  heavy  thoughts  began  to  work  in  her  mind. 
•The  remembrance  of  her  unkind  and  ungodly  carriage  toward  her 
dearest  friend — how  she  had  hardened  her  heart  against  all  the 
loving  entreaties  to  her  and  her  sons  to  go  with  him  on  his  pil- 
grimage— cost  her  many  tears.  She  spoke  to  her  children:  "Sons, 
we  are  undone.  I  have  sinned  away  your  father ;  I  would  not  go 
with  him  myself,  and  I  also  hindered  you.  I  thought  your  father 
foolish;  I  now  see  that  he  Avas  wise,  and  has  escaped  the  snares  of 
death."  Christiana  and  her  children  now  all  wept  and  bewailed 
their  condition.  In  a  dream,  Christiana  saw  her  husband  in  a  place 
of  bliss  among  immortals,  praising  Grod  for  his  mercy.  After  she 
had  arisen,  one  knocked  at  the  door,  whose  name  was  Secret,  who 
brought  a  letter  to  her  from  her  husband's  King.  She  was  informed 
that  the  Merciful  One  was  a  God  ready  to  forgive,  and  he  invited 
her  to  come,  as  did  her  husband,  through  trials  and  afflictions,  and 
she  would  be  received  with  joy.  Christiana  now  called  her  children 
together,  and  told  them  of  her  dream  and  letter.  At  this  they  were 
all  overjoyed^  and  with  their  mother  began  to  prepare  for  the  jour- 
ney to  the  Celestial  City. 

It  is  evident  that  the  authoi*  was  in-  need  not  hesitate  to  recieve  it  as  a  di- 
tent  on  encouraging  pious  persons  to  vine  monition.  "  The  secret  of  the 
persevere  in  using  all  moans  for  the  Lord  is  with  them  that  fear  him." 
spiritual  good  of  their  children,  even  The  intimations  given  by  Secret  seem 
when  they  see  no  immediate  effect  from  to  represent  the  silent  teachings  of  the 
their  efforts.  God  may  speak  in  adream,  Holy  Spirit,  by  which  the  true  mean- 
as  of  old,  and  if  the  intimation  bo  ing  of  the  Scriptures  is  discovered  to 
scriptural  and  the  effect  salutary,  we  man. 

Mrs.  Timorous  and  her  Companions.  As  Christiana  was  about  start- 
ing on  her  journey,  she  was  called  on  by  two  of  her  neighbors,  Mrs. 
Timorous,  and  a  young  maiden  named  Mercy.  Mrs.  Timorous, 
when  Christiana  told  her  that  she  was  going  on  the  same  journey 
which  her  departed  husband  had  gone,  implored  her  not  to  think 
of  such  madness.  "  Consider,"  says  she,  "  what  diificulties  and 
troubles  your  husband  had  while  on  his  dangerous  journey ;  and  if  he, 
though  a  man,  was  so  hard  put  to  it,  what  can  you,  a  poor  woman, 
do?  Think,  also,  of  your  four  sweet  children ;  how  can  they  travel 
such  a  journey,  and  what  will  become  of  them?"  Christiana  still 
determined  to  go  on  the  journey.     Mrs.  Timorous  began   to  revile 


THE    CHEISTIAN    PILGKIM.  71 

her,  and  told  Mercy  to  leave  such  a  foolish  person,  as  she  intended 
to  do.  Mercy,  however,  declined ;  for  what  Christiana  had  said  had 
an  effect  upon  her  mind,  and  she  determined  to  accompany  her  on 
her  pilgrimage.  When  Mrs.  Timorous  arrived  at  her  home,  she 
sent  for  some  of  her  neighbors,  among  whom  was  Mrs.  Bats-eyes, 
Mrs.  Inconsiderate,  Mrs.  Light-mind,  and  Mrs.  Know-nothing.  All 
these  women  joined  m  reviling  Christiana.  Mrs.  Bats-eyes  called 
her  a  blind  and  foolish  .woman ;  Mrs.  Inconsiderate  said  she  should 
be  glad  when  she  was  gone,  and  Mrs.  Light-mind  did  not  wish  to 
hear  any  thing  about  religious  matters,  but  told  what  merry  times 
she  had  at  Madam  Wanton's. 

The  conversation  of  Christiana  with  to  influence  sinners  to  choose  the  good 

her  neighbors  was  attended  with  differ-  part,    though    many  reject    the   truth, 

ent   results.     It   excited   the    revilings  The  names  of  the  companions  of  Mrs. 

and  scorn  of  Mrs.  Timorous    and    her  Timorous  indicates    what  kind  of  per- 

companions,  while  they  were  so  blessed  sons  generally  despise  and  revile  those 

to  Mercy  as  to  induce   hei;   to    set  out  that  fear  God  and  seek  the  salvation  of 

on  the    heavenly  journey.     This   gives  their  souls, 
encouragement  to  use  all  jiroper  means 

Slough  of  Despond  and  the  WicJcet  Gate.  When  Christiana^  her 
sons,  and  Mercy  came  to  the  Slough  of  Despond,  they  found  it 
rather  worse  than  it  was  in  Christian's  time.  This  was  owing  to 
the  unskillfulness  of  those  who  pretended  to  be  the  King's  laborers 
on  the  highway.  By  looking  well  to  their  steps  they  made  out  to 
stagger  over.  The  Pilgrims  now  went  up  to  the  Wicket  Gate; 
Christiana  knocked  at  the  door,  and,  for  a  time,  it  appeared  as  if 
she  could  not  be  admitted.  It  seemed  as  if  the  great  dog  had  been 
aroused,  and  barked  fiercely  at  them.  The  keeper  of  the  Gate, 
finding  out  who  it  was  that  knocked  at  the  door,  and  what  was  her 
object  in  coming,  kindly  let  Christiana  and  her  four  sons  Avithin, 
and  then  shut  up  the  Gate.  Poor  Mercy,  being  without,  trembled, 
and  cried,  fearing  she  was  rejected.  Christiana  now  began  to  inter- 
cede for  her,  and  Mercy  began  to  knock  at  the  Gate  herself.  The 
keeper,  learning  who  she  was,  opened  the  Gate,  but  Mercy  had  fal- 
len down  in  a  swoon.  When  he  took  her  by  the  hand  she  arose, 
and  told  the  keeper  she  was  afraid  she  would  not  be  admitted,  as  she 
had  not  a  special  invitation  from  the  King,  as  Christiana  had.  The 
keeper  told  her  not  to  fear,  and  kindly  admitted  her  within. 

It  has  often  happened  that  many  of    make  what  was  difficult  still  more  so, 
those  who  profess  to  preach  the  Gospel    by  their  teachings  and   plausible  spec- 


72  THE    CHEISTIAN    PILGRIM. 

ulations.      These    often    bewilder    the  lent  opposition  from  the  powers  of  dark- 
mind  and  obstruct  the  progress  of  those  ness,  who,  like  savage  beasts,  may  growi 
whoarejournejingheavenward.    TVhile  or  bark  to  frighten  away  those  seeking 
earnestly  praying  or  knocking  at  the  salvation. 
Gate,  then  they  may  expect  more  vio- 

The  Pilgrims'  passage  from  the  Wicket  Gate  to  the  Interpreter^  s  IIo7ise, 
After  being  kindly  treated  by  the  keeper  of  the  Wicket  Grate,  Chris- 
tiana and  her  companions  went  on  their  way.  As  they  were  trar- 
eling  by  a  garden  on  the  other  side  of  the  wall,  which  separated 
them  from  it,  some  of  its  fruit-trees  shot  their  branches  over  it,  on 
which  were  tempting  fruit.  The  boys,  although  warned  by  their 
mother,  picked  off  some  and  eat  it.  This  afterward  caused  their 
sickness  for  a  time.  Christiana  and  Mercy,  when  near  this  place, 
met  two  ill-favored  men,  who  came  upon  their  pathway.  They  en- 
deavored to  entice  them  by  fair  promises.  Christiana  rejected  their 
offers  with  indignation.  The  men  still  continued  their  approaches, 
until  both  the  women  cried  out  for  help.  Their  cries  were  heard 
by  the  keeper  of  the  AVicket  Grate,  who  sent  one  named  Believer  to 
their  assistance.  As  he  came  up,  the  villains  made  their  escape 
over  the  wall  into  the  Grarden.  The  Pilgrims  now  continued  their 
journey  until  they  came  to  the  house  of  the  Interpreter,  where 
Christian  was  so  profitably  entertained  when  on  his  journey  to  the 
Celestial  City. 

The    evil    one    has  a  garden  in  this  should    be    shunned    as    poison.      The 

world,  in  which  is  grown  fruit  such  as  worldly  men  who    made    proposals    to 

the   lust    of  the  flesh,   the   lust   of  the  Christiana  and  Mercy,  however  attract- 

eye,   of  which  the  young   and  inexpe-  ive,  were  really  ill-favored  to   the  gra- 

rienced  are  tempted  to  partake.     Par-  cious    mind.     These   seducers   are    too 

ents   should  use  all  means  to  restrain  often  successful.     When  their  proposals 

their    children    from     those    pleasures  are  rejected  with  abhorrence  and  earnest 

"which  war    against  the    soul."     This  prayer,  the  Lord  will  send  Eeliever  to 

fruit  grows  in  Beelzebub's  garden,  and  their  aid,  and  drive  off  the  intruders. 

The  Interpreter's  House.  Muck-raJce,  Christiana  and  her  com-, 
pany  were  admitted  to  the  Interpreter's  house,  after  their  names 
had  been  announced  by  Innocent,  a  maiden,  the  door-keeper.  The 
inmates  of  the  Interpreter's  house  were  overjoyed  that  the  wife  of 
Christian,  and  her  children  and  Mercy,  had  become  Pilgrims,  and 
bid  them  all  welcome  to  their  Master's  house.  The  Interpreter  took 
them  into  his  signijicant  rooms,  and  showed  them  what  Christian, 
Christiana's  husband  had  seen  before.  He  then  took  them  into  a 
room  where  was  "a  man  that  could  look  no  way  but  downward, 


THE    CIIEISTIAX    PILGEIM.  73 

with  a  muck-rake  in  his  hand ;  there  stood  also  one  over  his  head, 
with  a  Celestial  Crown  in  his  hand,  and  proifered  him  that  Crown 
for  his  muck-rake ;  hue  the  man  did  neither  look  up,  nor  regard, 
but  rake  to  himself  the  straws,  the  small  sticks,  and  the  dust  of 
the  floor." 

"This,"  said  the  Interpreter,  "is  a  man  of  this  world;  his  muck- 
rake shows  his  carnal  mind,  and,  whereas,  thou  seest  him  rather 
give  heed  to  rake  up  straws  and  sticks  and  the  dust  of  the  floor, 
than  to  do  what  he  says  that  calls  to  him  from  above,  with  the  Ce- 
lestial Crown  in  his  hand;  it  is  to  show  that  heaven  is  but  a  fable 
to  some,  and  that  things  here  are  counted  the  only  things  substan- 
tial. Now,  whereas  it  was  also  shewed  thee  that  the  man  could 
look  no  way  but  downward;  it  is  to  let  thee  know  that  earthly 
things,  when  they  are  with  power  upon  men's  minds,  quite  carry 
away  their  hearts  from  God." 

Sights  in  the  Interjpreter' s  House.  The  next  thing  shown  to  the  com- 
l^any  was  the  spider  "that  is  in  King's  palaces;"  then  the  hen  and 
her  chickens ;  and  when  they  drank  at  the  trough,  they  were  bid  to 
observe  how  they  lifted  up  their  heads  and  eyes  toward  heaven,  also 
how  the  hen  had  four  calls  for  her  brood.  They  were  taken  into  the 
slaughter-house,  and  bid  to  observe  how  patiently  the  sheep  sutfered 
death  from  the  hands  of  the  butcher.  They  then  were  led  into  the 
garden,  and  bid  look  at  the  flowers,  and  how  they  diflrred  in  stature, 
quality,  and  color.  They  next  entered  a  field  which  had  been  sown 
with  wheat  and  corn,  but  produced  neither.  On  their  return,  they 
saw  a  pretty  robin  with  a  great  spider  in  his  mouth ;  then  they  went 
into  the  garden  again,  where  they  saw  a  tree  with  green  leaves,  the 
trunk  being  rotten  inside.     They  then  had  a  supper,  with  music. 

By  the  hen  and  her  chickens,  we  are  was  worthless   which  would  be  eithei- 

taui^ht  to  look  upward  and  thank  God  burnt    up  or    trodden    under    foot.     It 

for  "the  mercies  we  receive;  by  the  dif-  shows  that  profession  merely  will  not 

ferent  calls  of  the   hen,  the  interest  of  avail,    if  we   produce    no   fruit.      The 

our  Heavenly  Father    in    our    welftire.  pretty  robin  that  was  seen  with  a  great 

We  are  taught  patience  and  resignation  spider  in   its   moiith,  is  an    emblem  of 

by  the  sheep,   and  by  the  flowers  in  the  some  who  profess  a  great  love  for  gcn- 

garden  that  there  are  different  degrees  nine    Christians   and   all    good   things, 

among  God's  people,  but  all  can  flourish  but  when  by  themselves,  as    the  robin 

harmoniously  together.    The  grain-field  gobbles  up   spiders,   they  change  their 

•which    produced    nothing    but    straw,  diet,  and  swallow  down  sin  like  water. 

Great-heart.  The  Cross.  Simple,  Sloth,  and  Presumption.  AVhen 
the  Pilgrims  were  leaving  the  Interpreter's  house,  he  called  for  a 


74 


THE    CHRISTIAN    PILGEIM. 


PROVERBS, 

Chap,  xxii : 

verse  3. 


PROVERBS, 
Chap,  i: 
verse  22. 


MATTHEW, 

Chap.  XXV : 

verse  26. 


PROVERBS, 

Chap,  xxii : 

verse  13. 


HEBREWS, 
Chap,  vi : 
verse  12. 


yiioig- up, cause  holy  ways  they  did  declmej 
f  See Uere tooliow the  Child  doth. play y« maiis 
g  AaAwgife.  grqy  g1ipug-.;wligafagat-lieartleads  the  VaiLl 


PROVERBS, 

Chap,  xix: 

verse  15. 


PSALM 

xix: 
verse  13. 


2  PETER, 

Chap,  xi : 
verse  10. 


NUMBERS, 
Chap.  XV : 
verse  30. 


PSALM 

xxxvii: 
verse  34. 


"Now  I  saw  still  in  my  dream  that  they  went  on  until  they  were  come  to  the 
place  that  Simple,  Sloth,  and  Presumption  lay  ayid  slept  in  ivhen  Christian 
went  by  on  his  pilgrimage;  and  behold  they  were  hanged  up  in  irons  a  little 
way  off  on  the  other  side." 


THE    CHEISTIAN    PILGEIM.  75 

man-servant  of  his,  one  Grreat-heart,  and  bid  him  to  arm  himself, 
and  conduct  these  his  chiklren  forward  on  their  journey.  Christiana 
and  her  company  were  taken  into  the  vestry  and  clothed  in  beautiful 
white  raiment,  and  when  thus  adorned,  each  thought  the  others  more 
beautiful  than  themselves.  The  company  now  passed  on  with  Great- 
heart  for  their  leader,  who  went  before  them,  when  they  arrived 
at  the  Cross  where  Christian  lost  his  burden.  Here  they  made  a 
pause,  and  blessed  Grod,  while  Great-heart  endeavored  to  show  the 
wondrous  virtues  of  looking  at  the  Cross.  Now  I  still  saw  in  my 
dream  that  they  went  on  until  they  came  to  the  place  where  Simj^le, 
Sloth,  and  Presumption  lay  and  slept  when  Christian  went  by  on 
his  pilgrimage;  and  behold  they  were  hanged  up  in  irons  a  little 
way  off  on  the  other  side. 

The  stated  pastoral  care  of  a  vigilant  dreadful  falls  and  awful  deaths  of  some 

minister,  who    is    strong  in    faith    and  professors    are    at    times   made    for    a 

courage,  is  represented  by  Great-heart,  warning  to  others  ;  and    to    put    them 

the    conductor    of  the    Pilgrims.     The  upon   their    guard    against   superficial, 

Cross  of  Christ,  in  its  various  bearings,  slothful,  and  presumptuous    men,  who 

will  be   an   everlasting  theme  for  the  draw  aside  many   from  the  holy  ways 

contemplation  of  men  and  angels.     The  of  God. 

Hill  Difficulty.  By-ways.  Giant  Grim.  The  Pilgrims  arrived  ai 
the  foot  of  hill  Difficulty,  where  Christian  drank  of  the  spring.  Its 
waters  were  now  dirty  with  mud,  which  some  had  thrown  in  to  pre- 
vent Pilgrims  from  drinking  it.  They  were  told  that  if  the  water 
was  taken  up  and  put  into  a  clean  vessel,  the  dirt  would  sink  to 
the  bottom,  and  then  it  would  be  good  to  drink.  When  here,  they 
were  shown  two  dangerous  by-ways  where  Formality  and  Hypocrisy 
lost  themselves.  Some  had  made  an  attempt  to  stop  up  these  roads 
by  putting  up  chains,  posts,  and  a  ditch ;  yet  after  all  this,  there 
were  some  who  preferred  to  venture  to  go  on  these  by-ways  than 
to  clamber  up  the  hill.  After  drinking  of  the  purified  waters  of 
the  spring,  the  Pilgrims  began  to  ascend  the  difficult  hill.  When 
they  came  to  the  arbor  where  Christian  rested,  they  were  all  glad 
to  sit  down,  being  almost  overcome  by  the  heat.  After  being  re- 
freshed here,  they  went  forward  where  Mistrust  and  Timorous  met 
Christian,  and  they  saw  the  stage  on  which  their  tongues  were  burnt 
through  with  a  hot  iron,  for  endeavoring  to  hinder  Christian  on  hi,3 
journey.  The  Pilgrims  now  passed  on  until  they  came  in  sight  oli 
the  lions,  near  the  Porter's  Lodge.  The  lions  were  backed  by  Giant 
Grim,  or  Bloody-man,  who  swore  that  the  Pilgrims  should  not  pass. 


THE    CHEISTIAN    PILGRIM. 


Great-heart,  drawing  his  sword,  fell  upon  the  Griant,  broke  his  hel- 
met, cut  off  his  arm,  and  finally  killed  him.  Having  safely  con- 
ducted the  Pilgrims  within  the  Porter's  Lodge,  Great-heart  was  now 
obliored  to  leave  them  for  a  short  time. 


'O' 


The    refreshing    spring    at  the    hiil  declarations  of  Scripture  and  the  efforts 

Difficulty  seems  to  represent  the  preach-  of  faithful  ministers,   yet    the   love  of 

ing  of  the  Gospel ;  hy  a  departure  from  ease  has  induced  many  to  break  through 

its  simplicity,  its  waters  become  dirty  all  obstacles,  and  risk  their  eternal  in- 

and  unfit  for  use,    but    the   pure  mind  terests,  rather  than  deny  themselves  an^ 

would    separate  the  precious   and   the  endure  hardships  in  the  way  to  heaven, 

vile.       Notwithstanding    the    by-ways  The  lions   and  Giant-grim   may  repre- 

into  which   professors   turn    from    the  sent  persecutors  in  former  days,  but  a 

right  path  have  been  hedged  up  by  the  race  now  nearly  extinct. 

Christiana's  family  entertained.  Mr.  Brisk.  "When  the  Pilgrims 
entered  the  house  prepared  for  those  going  heavenward,  they  were 
joyfully  received  by  all  its  inmates.  Prudence,  Piety,  and  Charity, 
three  comely  maids,  who  invited  them  to  stay,  and  they  would  have 
all  the  house  could  afford.  After  a  supper  in  which  their  dear  Re- 
deemer was  brought  to  their  remembrance,  they  were  conducted  to 
the  chamber  of  rest.  When  on  their  beds  they  heard  the  sound  of 
music  in  the  house,  for  joy  that  they  were  there.  Their  rest  and 
even  their  dreams  were  sweet.  In  the  morning.  Prudence  catechised 
Christiana's  four  sons,  James,  Joseph,  Samuel,  and  Matthew,  and 
gave  them  much  good  instruction.  While  here  Mercy  had  a  suitor, 
Mr.  Brisk,  a  man  who  professed  some  religion,  but  one  that  stuck 
very  close  to  the  world.  As  he  always  found  her  busy  in  making  up 
clothing,  he  asked  her  how  much  she  could  earn  a  day.  Mercy  an- 
swered she  was  working  for  the  poor,  and  gave  the  garments  away, 
so  that  she  might  be  rich  in  good  works.  This  preference  of  heav- 
enly treasures  above  those  on  earth,  was  so  distasteful  to  Mr.  Brisk 
that  he  soon  left  off  his  visits. 

All  holy  beings  rejoice  when  they  see  times    ensnared    by  worldly  men,  who 

the  poor  sinful    creatures  of   earth   re-  make  a  pretense  of  religion  in  orderto 

f>enting    and  walking    in    the   path  of  gain  their  affections.  •  If  by  imitating 

ife  and  salvation.     It  is  all  important  Dorcas,  a  young  woman  loses  a  suitor, 

that  the  young  should  be  governed  by  she  is  delivered  from  a  dangerous  ac- 

the  instructions  of  Prudence,  Piety,  and  quaintance. 
Charity.    Pious  young  women  are  some- 

Matthew's  Sickness.  Eve^s  Apple.  Jacob's  Ladder.  The  Anchor. 
Abraham.  While  staying  at  the  Beautiful  House,  Matthew  was  taken 
sick  and  was  much  prostrated  by  pain  in  his  bowels.     A  skillful  phy- 


THE    CHEISTIAN    PILGRIM. 


sician  was  called  in  and  found  he  had  a  griping  sickness,  occasioned 
by  eating  some  of  Beelzebub's  fruit,  which  grew  near  the  Wicket 
Gate.-  He  was  obliged  to  take  cleansing  and  bitter  medicines  to 
save  his  life.  After  the  Pilgrims  had  staid  a  month  or  more  at  this 
place  they  signified  their  wish  to  be  going  forward ;  the  whole  family 
were  called  together  to  give  thanks  to  their  King  for  sending  them 
such  guests.  According  to  their  custom  they  took  them  to  a  closet 
to  show  them  one  of  the  ap^^les  that  Eve  eat  of;  they  next  showed 
them  Jacob's  Ladder,  with  angels  ascending  it;  the  next  was  a 
golden  anchor,  and  lastly  the  mount  on  which  Abraham  offered  up 
Isaac,  with  the  altar,  the  wood,  the  fire  and  the  knife. 

The  case  of  Matthew  shows  the  evil  pointment  which  followed,  are  subjects 

effects  of  sin.     It  will  pinch  and  gripe  very  interesting   and    insti'uctive,    and 

the  conscience  and  make  the  heart  of  affecting   to   the  pious    mind.     Jacob's 

a  gracious  soul   sick,  and  nothing   but  Ladder,  with  passing  upon  it,  shows  the 

the  atoning  blood  of  Christ  applied  to  connection  between  earth  and  heaven — 

the  soul  can  effect  a  cure.     The  nature  how    ministering   spirits    are    sent    to 

of  the  first  transgression,  the   insinua-  minister  to  the  heirs  of  salvation.    The 

tions  of  the  tempter,  the  motives  which  golden  Anchor  of  Hope  shows  how  we 

induced   our  fii-st   parents    to   eat    the  are  kept  steadfast  in  the  Faith, 
forbidden  fruit,  and  the  dreadful  disap- 

Valley  of  Humiliation.  Shepherd  Boy  and  Mercy.  Being  now  joined 
by  Great-heart,  the  Pilgrims  began  to  go  down  the  hill  into  the  Val- 
ley of  Humiliation.  Mr.  Great-heart  said  they  need  not  be  afraid  of 
this  valley,  for  here  is  nothing  to  hurt  us,  unless  we  procure  it  our- 
selves. It  was  indeed  a  fruitful  place  as  any  in  the  earth,  and 
some  have  wished  they  might  travel  such  a  road  all  the  way  to  their 
Father's  house.  As  they  were  passing  along  they  saw  a  boy  feeding 
his  father's  sheep.  The  boy  was  in  very  mean  clothes,  but  of  a  fresh 
and  well-favored  countenance,  and,  as  he  sat  by  himself,  he  sung. 

He  that  is  down,  needs  fear  no  fall; 

He  that  is  low,  no  pride ; 
He  that  is  humble  ever  shall 

Have  God  to  be  his  guide. 

Of  this  valley  it  is  said  that  our  Lord  formerly  had  his  country- 
house,  and  he  loved  much  to  be  here.  Angels  also  have  visited  this 
place.  Mercy,  the  companion  of  Christiana,  said  this  valley  suited 
her,  and  that  she  felt  as  well  in  it  as  she  did  in  any  part  of  the 
journey. 


78  THE    CHEISTIAN    PILGEIM. 

When  Christians  are  in  depressed  cir-  enjoys  more  happiness  than  any  earthly 

cumstances  and  have  a  realizing  sense  king  on  his  throne.     Mercy  and  others 

of  their   sins    and    imperfections,   they  of  like  spirit  love  to  be  in  this  va'ley 

are  led  to  look  unto  God   who  "gives  out  of  the  turmoil  of  the  world,  where 

grace  to  the  humble."     When  they  feel  they  can    enjoy   communion   with  him 

meek    and    humble,    they    travel    the  who  chose  retirement  and  poverty  and 

heavenly  way  in  peace  and  safety.    The  was  despised  and  rejected  of  men. 
Shepherd's  boy  who  possesses  this  spirit 

Valley  of  the  Shadow  of  Death,.  Giant  Maul  After  the  Pilgrims 
had  passed  the  valley  of  Humiliation,  they  came  upon  the  borders  o1 
the  Shadow  of  Death,  a  place  strangely  haunted  by  evil  things.  Thej' 
were  alarmed  by  fiends,  heard  horrible  noises,  and  the  rushing  to 
and  fro  of  their  enemies.  Sometimes  their  pathway  was  hidden  by 
a  great  mist  or  so  darkened  by  the  smoke  of  the  pit.  Snares  wei-e 
also  laid  to  entangle  their  feet  so  that  they  might  stumble  intc/  the 
depths  below.  But  having  Great-heart  for  a  conductor  they  passed 
safely  forward.  When  they  came  among  the  snares  they  saw  one 
Heedless  who  had  been  cast  into  the  ditch  on  the  left  hand,  and  way 
much  bruised  and  mangled.  Many  have  been  killed  hereabouts, 
many  foolishly  venturous  as  to  come  here  without  a  guide.  As  they 
drew  near  the  end  of  the  way,  they  came  to  a  cav§,  and  by  it  stood 
Maul,  a  giaYit,  with  a  great  club,  who  attempted  to  stop  the  com- 
pany from  passing.  He  entered  into  a  controversy  with  Great-heart, 
and  told  him  he  was  stealing  women  and  children  and  carrying 
them  to  a  strange  country.  From  words  they  came  to  blows.  The 
contest  was  fierce,  and  for  a  time  seemed  doubtful,  but  Great-heart 
finally  succeeded  in  striking  down  the  giant  and  taking  ofi^  his  head, 
which  was  fastened  to  a  pillar  erected  near  by. 

Some  Christians   have  been  tempted  ing  circumspectly  he  will  deliver  them 

in  a  peculiar  manner,  exclaiming  with  from   their   troubles,   while  those  who 

David,    "  The   sorrows   of  death    com-  are    heedless   pass    on    to    destruction, 

passed  me   and  the  pains   of  hell    got  Giant  Maul  may  rejiresent  a  person  or 

hold    upon  me ;"    their  minds   may  be  persons  of  power    and   influence,  who 

confused  and    they   hardly  know  what  oppose  and  ridicule  the  Gospel.     Great- 

to  do;  this  is  indeed    the  "Shadow  of  heart,  however,  by  using  the  sword  of 

Death."     By  calling  on  God,  and  walk-  the  Spirit,  comes  off  conqueror. 

Old  Honesty^  and  Fearing^  the  Pilgrim.  After  the  company  had 
passed  safely  through  the  valley,  they  came  upon  an  oak  by  the  road 
where  they  found  an  old  man  asleep,  whom  they  knew  to  be  a  Pil- 
grim, by  the  clothes  he  had  on.  As  Great-heart  awakened  him,  he 
arose  and  stood  on  his  guard,  demanding  who  they  were.     When  he 


THE    CHEISTIAN    PILGEIM.  79 


had  learnt  who  the  company  were,  Honest  was  much  rejoiced  and 
saluted  them  all  by  name.  He  told  them  that  he  came  from  the 
town  of  Stiipiditi)^  which  lay  about  four  degrees  beyond  the  City  of 
Destruction.  He  said,  blushing,  that  he  was  named  Honest,  and 
he  wished  his  nature  might  agree  with  his  name.  As  they  traveled 
the  conversation  turned  upon  one  Mr.  Fearing,  who  was  known  to 
Honest,  and  who  had  been  guided  by  Mr.  Great-heart,  on  the  road 
to  the  Celestial  City.  He  was  rather  troublesome  to  his  compan- 
ions ;  he  was  easily  frightened,  and  was  always  afraid  he  would  not 
be  able  to  reach  the  Celestial  City.  It  is  said  that  he  lay  groaning 
at  the  Slough  of  Despond  for  more  than  a  month,  not  daring  to 
venture  the.  passage,  until  one  morning,  in  a  bright  sunshine,  he 
was  enabled  to  make  the  passage.  When  he  came  to  the  Wicket 
Gate  it  was  long  before  he  would  venture  to  knock.  When  he  came 
to  the  hill  Difficult}^,  he  made  no  stick  at  that  nor  the  lions.  The 
valley  of  Humiliation  was  pleasant  to  him  ;  his  only  trouble  was 
about  his  acceptance  at  last.  When  he  got  to  the  river  his  confi- 
dence was  increased,  and  he  was  admitted  into  the  City. 

Honest    dwelt    in   the  town  of  Stu-  apprehensions,    and     spend    too    much 

pidity,  a  place  far  from  the  sun,  more  time  in  unavailing  complaints,  and  fail, 

cold  and   senseless  than   other    places,  perhaps,  to  embrace    the   promises   for 

Honest  was  sound   in  the  faith  and  es-  fear    their    faith    may  not  be  genuine, 

teemed   a    perfect    character,    but    he,  Such   persons,    though    diiSdent,    have 

conscious    of    his     imperfections,    was  no   thoughts    of    turning    back    to   the 

ashamed  that  he  was  no    more  worthy  world,    but    will    press    forward    with 

of  his   high  reputation.     Fearing  may  more  courage  through    greater  difficul- 

ropresent  those  Cliristians  who  are  re-  ties  and  dangers  than  many  who  make 

tarded  in  their  progress  by  discouraging  louder    jDrofessions. 

An  account  of  Self-will.  As  the  Pilgrims  went  on  with  their  con- 
versation old  Mr.  Honest  gave  an  account  of  one  Self-will,  who  pre- 
tended to  be  a  Pilgrim.  He  was  quite  obstinate,  or  self-willed,  in 
his  opinions,  caring  but  little  for  men  or  argument,  or  example.  He 
held  that  he  mii»-lit  follow  the  vices  as  well  as  the  virtues  of  Pil- 
grims,  and  that  if  he  did  both  he  would  certainly  be  saved.  He 
said  David  and  Solomon,  God's  beloved,  practised  certain  things, 
therefore  he  could  do  it.  He  said  that  Sarah  and  other  godly  wives 
in  Egypt  and  Rahab,  lied,  and  Jacob  got  his  inheritance  in  a  way 
of  guile  and  dissimulation,  therefore  he  could  do  it  too,  provided 
he  had  faith  in  the  promises  of  the  Lord  and  lived  as  well  as  Jacob, 
and  the  others  Inentioned. 
18 


80  THE    CHEISTIAN    PILGEIM. 

Self-will  may  represent  a  certain  class  up  the  sin  of  God's  people;"  tliey  may 

of   Antinomians,    who  hold    that  faith  talk  of  the    liberty  of  the   Gospel,  but 

is  every  thing,  but  ?ror A'5,  little  or  noth-  "they  themselves  are  the  servants  of 

ing.     Such  persons  ma}" bo  said  to  "eat  corruption." 

The  Pilgrims  entertained  at  Gains'  Inn.  Slay-good  and  Feeble-mind. 
The  Pilgrims,  on  their  journey,  came  to  an  inn  kept  by  Gains,  who 
entertained  travelers  to  the  Celestial  City.  Here  Mercy  was  mar* 
ried  to  ]\Iatthew ;  also  James,  another  of  Christiana's  sons,  to  Phebe, 
the  daughter  of  Gains.  The  whole  company  were  entertained  here 
for  more  than  a  month,  and  were  much  strengthened  and  encour 
aged.  Great-heart,  while  here,  being  informed  that  one  Slay-good, 
a  giant,  lived  near  by,  was  determined  to  get  him  out  of  the  way. 
Accordingly  the  whole  company,  having  armed  themselves,  went  to 
the  cave  where  the  giant  resided,  and  found  that  he  had  sei'zed  one 
Feeble-mind,  and  was  in  the  act  of  robbing  him.  Great-heart,  after 
a  great  struggle,  succeeded  in  disarming  the  giant,  and  then  took 
off  his  head  and  brought  it  to  the  inn.  Feeble-mind  was  born  in 
the  town  of  Uncertain,  and  being  a  sickly  man,  was  easily  taken. 
He  was,  however,  determined  on  going  to  the  Celestial  City — to  run 
when  he  could,  when  he  could  not  run,  to  go,  and  to  creep  when  he 
could  not  go. 

The  refreshment  and  encouragement  professors  by  fines  and  imprisonments, 
from  the  experimental  and  affection-  to  the  hazard  of  their  lives  or  souls, 
.'ite  conversation  with  Christian  friends,  Feeble-mind  may  represent  those  who 
who  use  hospitality  to  each  other  with-  have  a  constitutional  timidity  and  low- 
out  grudging,  seems  here  intended;  also  ness  of  spirits,  arising  from  a  feeble 
the  institution  of  marriage  among  young  frame  and  sickness,  unfitting  them  for 
Christians,  provided  it  be  done  accord-  hard  and  perilous  services.  This  state 
ing  to  the  rule  of  God's  Word.  Slny-  of  mind  is  often  connected  wilh  re- 
good  may  denote  certain  persons  who  markable  perseverance  in  the  ways  of 
formerly    j^ersecuted    and    intimidated  God. 

Vanity  Fair.  River  of  the  Water  of  Life.  As  the  Pilgrims  left 
the  inn,  Mr.  Ready-to-halt,  with  his  crutches  in  his  hand,  came  along 
and  joined  the  company.  Their  next  stopping  was  at  the  house 
Mnason,  in  Vanity  Fair,  who  kept  a  place  for  the  entertainment  of 
Pilgrims  who  were  passing  through  on  their  journey.  The  people 
were  now  much  more  moderate  than  when  Christian  and  Faithful 
visited  their  city.  The  blood  of  Faithful  was  such  a  load  upon  the 
inhabitants,  they  have  been  ashamed  to  burn  any  more.  Indeed, 
in  many  parts  of  the  town  religion  is  counted  honorable.  After 
leaving  this  place,  the  company  came  to  the  river  on  this   side  of 


TUE    CHEISTIAN    PILGRIM.  81 

the  Delectable  Mountains.  Here  were  fine  trees  growing,  on  both 
sides  of  the  river,  whose  leaves,  if  taken  inwardly,  are  good  against 
surfeits;  where  the  meadows  are  green  all  the  year  long,  and  where 
they  might  lie  down  safely.  By  the  river  side,  there  were  cotes 
and  folds  for  sheep,  a  house  for  the  nourishing  and  bringing  up  of 
those  lambs,  the  babes  of  those  that  go  on  prilgrimages.  Also, 
there  was  here  One  that  was  intrusted  with  them,  who  could  have 
compassion,  and  that  could  gather  these  lambs  with  his  arm,  and 
carry  them  in  his  bosom. 

The  persecutions  which  formerly  were  Water    of    Life,    with     the     beautiful 

so  prevalent  in  the  world   (called   here  meadows  on  its  banks,  with   its  j^laces 

Vanity  Fair)  have  been  greatly  mode-  of  shelter  for  the  flocks,  we  arc  taught 

rated  since  John  Banyan's  time,  and  in  the  importance  of  having  our  children 

many     places     have     entirely    ceased,  brought  under  the  nurture  and  admo- 

Under  the  emblem  of  the  Eiver  of  the  nition  of  the  Lord. 

Giant  Despair  Killed.  Douhfing  Castle  Destroyed.  When  the  com- 
pany had  reached  By-path  Meadow,  near  Doubting  Castle,  the  men 
concluded  to  make  an  attempt  to  kill  Giant  Despair  and  demolish 
liis  castle.  When  they  came  up  to  the  castle  gate  and  knocked  for 
admission,  the  Giant  and  his  wife  Diffidence  were  aroused.  Learn- 
ing their  intentions,  the  Giant  armed  himself  for  a  mortal  combat, 
having  a  great  club  in  his  hand.  Then  they  fought  for  their  lives, 
and  Giant  Despair  was  brought  down  to  the  ground ;  but  Great- 
heart  was  his  death.  He  pierced  him  under  the  fifth  rib,  and  then 
smote  the  head  of  Giant  Despair  from  off  his  shoulders,  and  set  it 
upon  a  pole  by  the  highway  side,  right  over  against  the  pillar  that 
Christian  erected  for  a  caution  to  Pilgrims  that  came  after,  to  take 
heed  of  entering  into  his  grounds.  Now,  old  Mr.  Honest  cut  down 
the  Giantess  at  one  blow.  They  now  fell  to  demolishing  Doubting 
Castle,  in  which  they  found  Mr.  Despondency  and  his  daughter  Much- 
afraid^  confined  and  almost  starved.  As  they  were  honest  persons, 
they  were  taken  into  the  Pilgrim  company.  Great-heart  now  went 
back  to  the  road,  took  the  head  of  the  Giant  and  set  it  on  a  jiole 
by  the  wayside,  for  a  warning  to  those  who  come  afterward.  On 
this  occasion  the  whole  company  had  a  time  of  rejoicing,  and 
even  Mr.  lieady-to-halt  made  out  to  dance  by  the  help  of  one  of  his 
crutches. 

It  was  probably  intended,  in  this  part  and  prayers  of  such  believers  as  are 
of  the  Allegory,  to  show  that  the  labors  strong  in  the  faith,  may  be  useful  in 
of  faithful  ministers,  with  tlie  converse    recovering    the    fallen    and     relieving 


82 


THE    CHRISTIAN    PILGEIM. 


PSALM 

xciv: 

verse  4. 


EZEKIEL, 
Chap.  XXXV : 
verses  5,  6. 


aCORINTHI'NS, 
Chap,  i: 
verse  8. 


JOB, 

Chap,  iii : 
verse  25. 


PSALM 

Ixix : 

verse  2. 


!?^gtSfiW^^^Ll>t^iyAL;n^iftffjfc 


^Anclthe  Gyant  dispair  "hath,  lost  his  head  tf 
Sia  can  temuLitlie  Ckstle.maike'treniame^B 


MICAH, 

Chap,  vii 
verse  8. 


2C0RINTHrNS, 
Chap.  X : 
verse  4. 


ISAIAH, 
Chap,  li: 
verse  9. 


PSALM 

Ixviii : 
verse  3. 


PSALM 

cl: 
verse  4. 


Then  they  fonght  for  their  lives,  and  Giant  Despair  was  brought  down  to 
the  ground;  but  Great-heart  was  his  death.  He  pierced  him  under  the  fifth 
rib,  and  then  sjnote  the  head  of  Giant  Despair  from  off  of  his  shoulders,  and 
set  it  up  on  a  pole  by  the  highway  side,  right  over  against  the  pillar  that 
Christian  erected  for  a  caution  to  Pilgrims  that  came  after,  to  take  heed  of 
entering  into  his  grounds. 


THE    CIIEISTIAN    PILGEIM.  83 

those  who  are  desponding.  Great  heart,  those  whom  he  has  imprisoned,  and  de- 
by  the  Sword,  of  the  Spirit,  may  even  stroy  the  dungeon  in  which  they  wore 
strike    down    Giant    Despair,     release    coniined. 

Mounts  Innocence  cind  Charity.  AVhen  they  came  to  the  Delect- 
able JNIountains,  the  Shepherds  who  resided  there,  as  was  their  cus- 
tom, showed  the  Pilgrims  the  rarities  of  the  j^lacel  Among  these 
were  Mounts  Innocence  and  Charity,  on  the  first  of  which  they  saw 
a  man  clothed  in  white,  and  two  men.  Prejudice  and  Ill-will,  contin- 
ually casting  dirt  upon  him.  But,  notwithstanding  all  their  efforts, 
it  would  in  a  little  time  fall  oif  again,  and  his  garment  would  look 
as  clear  as  if  no  dirt  had  been  cast  at  them ;  on  being  asked  the 
meaning  of  this,  the  Shepherd's  replied,  "  This  man  is  Godly-man, 
and  his  garment  shows  the  innocencij  of  his  life.  Those  that  throw 
dirt,  hate  him;  as  you  see  that  the  dirt  will  not  stick  upon  his  gar- 
ment, so  will  it  be  with  those  who  lead  an  innocent  life.  Whoever 
would  make  such  men  dirty,  their  labor  is  vain,  for  God  in  a  little 
time  will  make  their  innocence  appear."  The  Shepherd's  then  took 
the  company  to  Mount  Charity,  where  they  saw  a  man  with  a  bundle 
of  cloth,  out  of  which  he  cut  garments  for  the  poor,  yet  his  bundle 
or  roll  of  cloth  was  never  the  less.  "  This,"  said  the  Shepherds, 
"is  to  show  you  that  he  who  has  a  heart  to  give  to  the  poor  shall 
never  want  wherewithal." 

These    emblems   are  suflSciently   ex-  have  committed.     This  ratxj  have  been 

plained,  and  may,  in  general,  be  consid-  from   the    want   of    circumspection    in 

ered    as    correct.     But    there   may   be  "avoiding     the    appearance    of    evil." 

cases  where  godly  men  have  been  du-  Such  cases   are  exceptions  to  the  gene- 

rably    suspected   of  crimes  they  never  ral  rule. 

Valiant-for-truth\s  Battle  and  Victory.  When  the  Pilgrims  arrived 
at  the  place  where  Little-fiiith  was  formerly  robbed,  they  saw  a  man 
named  Valiant-for-truth,  standing  with  his  sword  drawn  and  his  face 
bloody.  Being  requested  to  give  an  account,  he  said,  '"As  I  was  on 
my  way,  three  men  beset  me  and  propounded  three  things:  Whether 
I  would  become  one  of  them,  or  go  back  from  whence  I  came,  or 
die  upon  the  place.  To  the  lirst,  I  answered  I  had  been  a  true  man 
for  a  long  time,  I  could  not  now  associate  with  thieves.  Then  they 
demanded  my  answer  to  the  second,  so  I  told  them  that  I  found  the 
place  from  whence  I  came  so  unprofitable  and  unsuitable,  that  I  for- 
sook it  for  this  way  They  then  asked  my  answer  to  the  third.  I 
told  them  my  life  was  too  valuable  to  lightly  give  it  away ;  there  it  is, 
at  your  peril  you  touch  me.      ^'hen  the  three,  Wild-head,  Inconsiderate, 


84  THE    CHEISTIAN    PILGEIM. 

and  Pragmatic,  drew  upon  me,  and  I  also  drew  my  Jerusalem  blade 
upon  them.  So  we  fell  to  it,  and  continued  the  strife  for  three 
hours^  when  hearing  of  or  seeing  your  advance,  they  immediately 
fled. 

The  names  of  these  three  men  desig-  they  assault    professors    with    specious 

nate    their    character;    they   represent  reasonings,    caviling    objections,    confi- 

certain  loild  enthusiasts,  who,  not  hav-  dent  assertions,  proud  boastings,  bitter 

ing duly  consic^ere^i  an}^ religious  subject,  reproaches,    and  rash  judgments;  they 

2yrag7natically  OY  officiously  intrvidQ  i\\Qn\-  try  to  draw  them  over  to  their  party, 

Helves  in   the  way  of  religious  persons,  or  terrify  Avith  the  fears  of  damnation 

to    perplex  their  minds   and  persuade  if  they  continue  in  their  present  course, 

them  that,  unless  they  adopt  their  no-  The  word  of  Grod,  the  "true  Jerusalem 

tions,  they  can  not  be  saved.     An   un-  blade,"    wielded   in    faith    and    prayer, 

governable  imagination,  destitution   of  will  be  the   means  of   our  gaining  the 

Bober  reflection,  and  a  dogmatical  spirit  victory, 
characterize  these  enemies  of  the  truth; 

The  Pilgrims  in  the  Pnchanted  Ground.  When  Great-heart  and  his 
company  had  got  to  the  Enchanted  Ground,  they  found  it  was  grown 
over  with  briars  and  thorns,  except  here  and  there  was  a  pleasant 
arbor,  in  which  if  a  man  sit  or  sleeps,  some  say  that  it  is  doubtful 
whether  he  Avill  ever  rise  or  wake  again  in  this  world.  After  they 
had  passed  a  little  way,  they  were  surrounded  by  a  great  mist  and 
darkness,  so  that  they  coidd  hardly  see  each  other,  and  for  some 
time  they  were  obliged  to  feel  for  each  other,  for  they  walked  not 
by  sight.  Their  way  also  was  very  wearisome,  through  dirt  and 
mud ;  at  length  they  came  to  a  beautiful  arbor  called  the  SlothfuVs 
Friend,  where  there  were  soft  couches  for  the  weary  to  rest.  By  the 
warnings  and  advice  of  Mr.  Great-heart,  their  conductor,  they  passed 
this  place  without  stopphig.  At  length  they  came  to  a  spot  where 
one  is  apt  to  lose  his  way.  Being  dark,  their  guide  was  put  to  a 
stand;  he  however  had  a  tinder-box,  struck  a  light,  and  examined 
the  map  which  he  carried  with  him;  this  pointed  out  tjie  right  way 
so  plainly  that  they  could  not  mistake  it.  By  this  means  they 
avoided  all  dangerous  j^laces,  and  went  through  these  grounds  in 
safety. 

The    Enchanted    Ground  may  repre-  gled  by  the  cares   of  this  life  so  as  "to 

sent  the  circumstances  in  which  those  choke  the  V(oy&  and  render  it  unfruit- 

believers  are    placed   who    are    deeply  ful."     The  more  soothing  the  scene  the 

engaged   in   business,    and    obliged    to  more  danger.     The  allegory  shows  the 

spend  much  time  among  worldl}-  peo-  importance  of  having   pious    ministers 

pie.     Many   professors    are    enchanted  who   understand  God's  Word,  and   are 

by  worldly  advantages,  and  ftxll  asleep  able   to    point    out  in  it,  as  by  a  map, 

to  wake  no  more.     Others  are  entan-  the  way  of  salvation. 


THE    CHKISTIAK    PILGRIM, 


The  Sleepers  in  the  Arbor.  When  the  Pilgrims  were  in  the  En- 
chanted Ground,  they  came  to  an  arbor  by  the  highway  side,  in 
which  hay  two  men.  Heedless  and  Too-bold.  These  men,  being  wearied 
with  their  journey,  sat  down  to  rest  themselves,  and  so  went  fast 
to  sleep.  Some  of  the  Pilgrims,  seeing  their  dangerous  condition, 
called  to  them  by  their  names,  but  .they  made  no  answer.  The 
guide  then  tried  to  disturb  their  slumbers.  As  he  shook  them,  one 
of  the  sleepers  said,  "I  will  pay  you  when  I  take  my  money;"  "And 
I  will  fight  you  as  long  as  I  can  hold  my  sword  in  my  hand,"  said 
the  other.  At  that  one  of  the  children  laughed.  Christiana,  on  in- 
quiring of  the  guide  what  these  things  meant,  was  informed  that 
these  men  talked  in  their  sleep,  being  a  little  disturbed  but  not  half 
awake.  They  gave  very  incoherent  answers,  and  their  words  were 
not  governed  by  faith  or  reason. 

These  men,  J/eecZZess  and  Too-^o?J,  rep-  various  excuses  for  their  conduct,  and 

resent  those  who  take  up  a  profession  when  they  fall  asleep  in  the  arbor  of 

of  the  Gospel  in  a  heedless  manner,  and  worldly  prosperity,  nothing  can  awaken 

proceed  in  a  bold  and  overbearing  con-  them.     AVhile  in  this  state,  they  will,  as 

fidence,  and  may  long  maintain  a  form  it  were,  talk  in  their  sleep  about  religion, 

of  godliness,  but  after  a  time  become  in  so  incoherent  a  manner  as  to  excite 

weary  even  of  this,  and  will  gradually  the    laughter   of  children,  while   they 

fall  back  into  the  world,  retaining  noth-  who  understand  their  case  will  bewail 

ing  of  their  religion  except  some  dis-  their  deplorable  condition, 
torted    doctrinal    notions.      They    find 

Standfast  and  Madam  Bnlble.  Xear  the  end  of  the  Enchanted 
Ground,  the  Pilgrims  found  one  Standfast  on  his  knees,  earnestly 
engaged  in  prayer.  Being  a  Pilgrim  of  the  right  stamp,  they  soon 
made  his  accpiaintance.  In  giving  an  account  of  his  experience,  he 
stated  that  while  he  was  on  the  Enchanted  Ground,  a  lady,  some- 
what in  years,  but  stately,  handsome,  and  beautifully  attired,  with 
a  great  purse  of  gold  by  her  side,  presented  herself  before  me,  and 
offered  to  make  me  great  and  happy  if  I  would  be  ruled  by  her. 
I  rejected  her  offers  once  and  twice,  but  she  still  smiled,  and  said 
she  was  mistress  of  the  world,  and  that  men  were  made  hap])v  by 
her.  When  I  asked  her  name,  she  told  me  it  was  Madam  Bubble. 
This  set  me  further  from  her,  but  she  still  followed  me  with  her 
enticements.  I  then  called  on  Ilim  who  had  promised  to  help  me; 
as  I  was  on  my  knees  you  came  up,  when  this  fascinating  woman 
went  away. 

The  case  of  StandHist  shows  ua  that     their  hearts  to  yield  to  worldly  propo- 
■when  bclicverd  feel  the   iH'opeusity  of     sals,  it  renders  them  jealoua  of  them« 


86  THE    CHIIISTIAN    PILGEIM. 

selves,  excites  them  to  earnest  prayer  Pride  of  Life — are  jDersonified  by  Mad- 
to  him  who  is  able  to  preserve  from  the  am  Bubble,  "whose  fair  promises  are 
power  of  temptation.  The  world's  three  hollow  and  unsubstantial,  Wke  bubbles, 
chief  temptations — the  Lust  of  the  which  indeed  look  beautiful  for  a  short 
Flesh,  the    Lust  of  the   Eye,  and    the  time,  but  vanish  when  touched. 

The  Land  of  Beulah.  The  Pilgrims  now  drew  near  the  confines 
of  the  Celestial  City,  for  they  had  got  to  the  land  of  Beulah,  where 
the  sun  shines  night  and  day.  Here  the  Pilgrims  could  rest  in 
safety,  for  this  country  was  set  apart  for  their  rest  and  refreshment. 
All  the  orchards  and  vineyards  belonged  to  the  King  of  the  Celes- 
tial City,  therefore  they  were  licensed  to  take  any  thing  they  wished. 
While  here  they  heard  the  sounds  of  bells  and  trumpets,  which  were 
so  melodious  that  they  could  not  sleep ;  they  tired  not,  but  were  re- 
freshed by  this  music  from  the  Celestial  City.  They  also  heard  the 
voices  of  them  that  walked  the  streets.  The  Pilgrims  when  they 
arose  would  walk  to  and  fro,  but  how  were  their  eyes  now  filled  with 
celestial  visions!  In  this  land  they  heard  nothing,  saw  nothing,  felt 
nothing,  and  tasted  nothing  that  was  offensive,  except  it  was  the 
water  of  the  river  over  which  they  were  to  go;  they  thought  it  tasted 
somewhat  bitter,  but  it  proved  sweet  when  it  was  down. 

In  this  place  a  record  was  kept  of  the  nances  of  the  Pilgrims  of 
old,  and  a  history  of  what  they  had  done.  The  ebbings  and  flowing 
of  the  river  were  noted ;  sometimes  in  a  manner  it  had  been  dry 
for  some  Pilgrims,  while  it  had  overflowed  its  banks  for  others.  In 
this  place  the  children  of  the  town  would  go  into  the  King's  gardens 
and  gather  flowers  for  the  Pilgrims,  to  show  their  affection. 

The  land   of  Beulah  may   represent  triumphantly   are   often    reported   and 

the   happy  state  of  those  who   live  in  Avitnessed.     The  thoughts  of  death  may 

places   favored   by  many  lively  Chris-  indeed  seem    bitter    to  nature,  but  the 

tians    united    in    heart   and  judgment,  thoughts  of  the  joy  and  glory  that  fol- 

and  where  instances  of  persons  dying  lows  causes  the  soul  to  rejoice. 

Christiana  goes  over  the  River.  While  the  Pilgrims  were  resting 
and  enjoying  themselves  in  the  Land  of  Beulah,  a  messenger  from  the 
Celestial  City  came  to  Christiana  and  informed  her  that  the  Lord  of 
the  city  expected  to  have  her  to  appear  in  his  presence  in  the  course 
of  ten  days.  He  also  gave  her  a  token  that  he  was  a  true  messenger. 
When  Christiana  saw  that  her  time  was  come,  she  called  for  Mr. 
Great-heart,  the  guide,  and  all  her  companions.  She  called  for  her 
children  and  gave  them  her  blessing,  and  told  them  that  she  was 
glad  that  they  had  kept  their  garments   so  white.     She   called  for 


THE    CnmSTIAN    PILGRIM. 


JOHN, 

Chap,  xi: 
verse  28. 


PSALM 

cxvi : 

verse  15. 


PROVERBS, 

Chap,  xiv: 

verse  32. 


ISAIAH, 

Chap,  xliii 

verse  2. 


PSALM 

xxiii: 
verse  4. 


REVELATION, 
Chap,  xiv  : 
verse  13. 


JOHN, 

Chap,  xiv 

verse  2. 


PSALM 

xvi  : 
verse  II. 


REVELATION, 

Chap,  xxi: 
verse  4. 


REVELATION, 

Chap,   vii: 
verses  15-17. 


^'  But  behold,  all  the  hnnh^  beyond  the  river  were  full  of  horses  and  chariots, 
which  rvere  come  down  from  above  to  accompany  Christiana  to  the  City  gate. 

So  she  came  forth,  and  entered  the  river The  Heavenly  hosts  carried 

her  out  of  sif/ht,  and  she  entered  in  at  the  gate,  with  all  the  ceremonies  of  joy 
that  her  husband^  Christian,  had  entered  with  before  her." 


88  THE    CHEISTIAN    PILGEIM, 


Mr.  Yaliant-for-truth,  Mr.  Standfast,  and  all  the  rest  by  name,  and 
gave  them  her  parting  advice  and  blessing.  When  the  appointed 
day  had  arrived  when  she  must  be  gone,  all  her  companions  assem- 
bled at  the  river  side  to  see  her  take  her  journey.  But  behold,  all 
the  banks  on  the  other  side  were  full  of  horses  and  chariots,  which 
were  come  down  from  above  to  accompany  Christiana  to  the  city 
gate.  So  she  came  forth  and  entered  the  river,  making  a  sign  of 
farewell  to  those  who  followed  her.  The  last  words  she  was  heard 
to  say,  were,  "I  come,  Lord,  to  be  with  thee  and  bless  thee."  The 
heavenly  hosts  carried  her  out  of  sight,  and  she  entered  in  at  the 
Gate  with  all  the  ceremonies  of  joy  that  her  husband,  Christian, 
had  experienced  before  her.  Her  children  wept  at  her  departure, 
but  Mr.  Great-heart  and  Mr.  Valiant  played  upon  the  well-tuned 
cymbal  and  harp  for  joy. 

The   messengers   sent   to    Christiana  connections,  to   the  Church    and    com- 

appears  to  be  merely  to  represent  the  munity;    but   the  happy  death  of  such 

particular  disease    or   decay   by  which  persona   gives   great  encouragement  to 

the  Lord  takes  his   people   away  from  Christians  who  are  spectators  of  such 

the  world  to  bring  them  into  his  imme-  scenes,  and    excites    to  adoring   j'l'iiise 

diate  ])resence.     The  death  of  an  emi-  and  thanksgiving, 
nent  Christian  is  a  loss  to  relatives  and 

Beady-to-halt^  Feeble-mmd,  Bespondencij  and  his  daughter.  After  the 
departure  of  Christiana,  the  next  who  received  a  summons  to  pass 
the  river  was  Mr.  Ready-to-halt,  who,  having  received  the  token, 
called  for  his  fellow-pilgrims  and  told  them  that  he  was.  sent  for, 
and  that  God  would  surely  visit  them  also.  So  he  desired  Mr. 
Valiant  to  make  his  will,  saying  he  had  nothing  to  bequeath  them 
that  should  survive  him  but  his  crutches  and  his  good  wishes. 
When  he  came  to  the  brink  of  the  river,  he  said,  "  Now  1  shall  have 
no  more  need  of  these  crutches,  since  yonder  are  chariots  and  horses 
fur  me  to  ride  on."  The  last  words  he  was  heard  to  say  were, 
''Welcome  life!"  The  next  that  was  called  for  was  Mr.  Feeble- 
mind,  who,  calling  his  friends  together,  said  that  as  he  had  nothing 
worth  bestowing  upon  the  poorest  pilgrim,  he  desired  Mr.  Valiant 
would  bury  his  feeble-mind  in  a  dunghill.  He  entered  the  river  as 
the  rest,  and  his  last  words  were,  ''Hold  out  faith  and  ])atie7ice  f 
After  many  days  Mr.  Despondency  was  sent  for,  the  post  who 
brought  the  message  saying  to  him,  "  Trembling  man  !  these  ar€  to 
summon  thee  to  be  ready  with  the  King,  by  the  next  Lord's-day, 
to  shout  for  joy  for  thy  deliverance  from  all  thy  doub tings."     I)e- 


THE    CHRISTIAN    PILGRIM.  89 


spondeiicy's  daughter,  Much-afraid^  said  she  would  go  with  her  father. 
Then  Mr.  Despondency  said  to  his  friends,  "Myself  and  daughter 
have  been  rather  troublesome  to  our  companions,  but  our  will  is, 
that  no  one  shall  receive  or  entertain  our  desponds  and  slavish  fears. 
It  is  true  they  will  walk  about  and  seek  entertainment  from  Pil- 
grims, but  for  our  sakes,  shut  the  doors  upon  them."  The  last 
words  of  Mr.  Despondency  were,  ^^  Farewell  night!  Welcome  daij  f 
His  daughter  went  through  the  river  singing,  but  none  could  un- 
derstand what  she  said. 

The   dealings  of  the   Lord    are  hero  welcomed     into    the     Hcayonly    Citj. 

represented    us     gentle    to  the    feeble,  Feeble-mind  and  Despondeney  and  his 

trembling,  humble    believers,    and   the  daughter,  when  passing  through  their 

circumstances  of  their  deaths  compara-  last  trial,  are   unexpectedly  comforted, 

lively  encouraging   and   easy.     lieady-  and,    notwithstanding    all    their   feai-s, 

to-halt,  through  infirmities,  makes  his  pass   the  river  joyfully  and    enter  the 

forward   way    on    crutches,    is    at    last  Celestial  City. 

Honest,  Valiant- for -truth,  and  Standfast  pass  the  River.  When  Mr. 
Honest  received  his  summons  to  pass  the  river,  he  called  his  friends 
and  said  unto  them,  "  I  die,  but  shall  make  no  will.  A^  for  my 
honesty,  it  shall  go  with  me ;  let  him  that  comes  after  be  told  of 
this."  The  river,  at  the  time  he  made  his  passage,  overflowed  its 
banks  in  some  places,  but  JNlr.  Honest,  in  his  lit«time,  had  spoken 
to  one  Good  Conscience  to  meet  him  there.  He  was  found  on  the 
spot  at  the  time,  and  he  lent  Honest  his  hand  and  hel])ed  him  over. 
The  last  words  of  Mr.  Honest  were,  "Grace  reigns!"  and  so  he 
left  the  world.  Valiant-for-truth,  when  called  for,  said  to  his  friends, 
"  I  am  going  to  my  Father's,  and  though  with  great  difficulty  1  got 
hither.  My  sword  I  give  to  him  that  shall  succeed  me,  and  my 
courage  and  skill  to  him  that  can  get  it.  ]My  marks  and  scars  I 
carry  with  me,  to  be  a  witness  for  me  tliat  I  have  fought  his  battle 
who  now  will  be  my  Redeemer."  As  he  entered  the  river,  he  said, 
"Death  where  is  thy  sting?"  and  as  he  went  down  deeper,  he  said, 
"Grave  where  is  thy  victory?"  So  he  jDassed  over,  and  all  the 
trumpets  sounded  for  him  on  the  other  side. 

When  Mr.  Standfast  was  called  for,  he  sent  for  Mr.  Great-heart, 
the  guide;  he  told  him  he  had  left  behind  a  wife  and  five  small 
children,  on  whom  he  entreated  him  to  call  and  inform  them  of  his 
happy  arrival  at  the  river,  and  the  blessed  condition  he  was  in;  he 
also  requested  him  to  tell  them  about  Christian  and  Christiana,  his 
wife,  what  a  happy  end  they  had  made,  and  whither  they  were  gone. 


90  THE    CHRISTIAK    PILGRIM. 

He  added  that  he  had  little  or  nothing  to  send  to  his  family,  except 
his  prayers  and  tears  for  their  salvation.  When  Standfast  camo 
down  to  the  river,  a  great  calm  was  prevailing;  he  therefore  stood 
awhile  when  half-way  in,  and  talked  to  his  companions  who  came 
with  him  to  the  river.  He  said,  "  This  river  has  been  a  terror  to 
many,  and  it  also  has  frightened  me,  but  now  I  stand  easy.  The 
waters  indeed  are  to  the  palate  bitter,  and  to  the  stomach  cold;  yet 
the  thoughts  of  what  I  am  going  to,  and  of  the  conduct  that  waits 
for  me  on  the  other  side,  is  as  a  glowing  coal  at  my  heart.  My 
toilsome  days  are  ended,  I  have  formerly  lived  by  hearsay  and 
faith;  but  now  I  go  where  I  shall  live  by  sight.  I  have  loved  to 
hear  my  Lord  spoken  of.  His  voice  to  me  has  been  most  sweet, 
and  his  countenance  I  have  more  desired  than  they  that  have  most 
desired  the  light  of  the  sun.  He  has  kept  me  from  mine  iniquities, 
and  my  steps  have  been  strengthened  in  his  way."  While  he  was 
thus  speaking,  his  countenance  changed,  and  after  he  had  said, 
"  Take  me,  for  I  come  unto  thee,"  he  ceased  to  be  seen  of  them. 
Glorious  it  was  to  see  how  the  region  was  filled  with  horses  and 
chariots,  with  trumpeters  and  j^ipers,  with  singers  and  pla^^ers  on 
stringed  instruments,  to  welcome  the  Pilgrims  as  they  went  up  and 
followed  each  other  into  the  Celestial  City. 

It  may  bo  stated   at  this  concluding  children  of  God,  and  as  such  entitled  to 

scene,  that  Bunyan  has  represented  all  the  i>romises.     There  is   no  doubt  but 

his  Pilgrims   as  relying  solely  on  the  there  are  many  Christians  who,  without, 

mercy  of  God,  through  the  righteous-  any  want  of  humility,  can  say  with  St. 

ness  and  atonement  of  his  Son,  for  our  Paul,  "I   have    fought  a   good    fight,  I 

salvation.    Notwithstanding  this,  many  have    kej^t    the    faith."     It  is  also    ob- 

devoted    Christians,   when  recollecting  servable  that  while   the    Pilgrims  here 

their  conscious  integrity,  their  boldness  are  represented  as  leaving  their  infirm- 

in   professing    and   contending  for   the  ities    behind,    they    take    their    graces 

truth,  love  to  the   cause,    example  and  along  with  them,  and  that  "their  works 

words  of  Christ,  obedience  to  his  pre-  would  follow  them." 
cepts,  may  feel  that  they  arc  indeed  the 


THE   EXD. 


m 
£ 

m 
m 

M 


THE 


BIBLE 


LOOKING    GLASS: 


REFLECTOR,  COMPANION  AND  GUIDE  TO  THE  GREAT  TRUTHS 

OF  THE  SACRED  SCRIPTURES,  AND  ILLUSTRATING  THE 

DIVERSITIES  OF  HUMAN  CHARACTER,  AND  THE 

QUALITIES   OF   THE   HUMAN  HEART. 


Consisting  cf  Six  Books  in  two  Paris. 

PROFUSELY  ILLUSTRATED  BY  OBJECT  TEACHING  PICTURES 

Showing  the  pain  and  misery  resulting  fjvjn  vice,  and  the 

PEACE  and  HAPPINESS  arising  from  virtue. 

fiy  JOHN  W.  BARBER  and  OTHERS. 

PART    B. 
Christian  Similitudes — Sunday  Book  of  Pleasing  and  Coin  for  ting  Literature- 
Grays  Elegy  Illustrated. 


BRADLEY,  GARRETSON   &  CO., 

PHILADELPHIA,     No.   66     NORTH     FOURTH     STREET, 

WILLIAM  GARRETSON  &  CO., 

GALESBURG,  ILL.,  COLUMBUS,  OHIO,  NASHVILLE,  TtNN.,  HOUSTON,  TEXAS, 

SAN  FRANCISCO,  CAL, 

1S75. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  mdccclxvi, 

By  JOHN  W.  BARBER, 

In  the  Clerk's  OfEce  of  the  District  Court  of  Connecticut. 

BIBLE    LOOKING    GLASS. 


A  FEW  WORDS  FROM  THE  PUBLISHER. 

Mr.  J.  "W".  Barber,  the  originator  of  this  work,  has  now  nearly  arrived  at  the 
age  of  three-score  years  and  ten,  and  has  spent  the  most  of  his  life  at  tlie  joint 
business  of  an  historical  engraver  and  author.  Being  plain  and  unpretendino-  in 
his  habits  and  manners,  his  productions,  whether  as  engraver  or  author,  are  in 
the  same  style.  His  earlier  works,  of  the  pictorial  kind,  are  valuable  as  showinf 
the  costume  of  the  common  people  of  the  preceding  generation — that  of  our  fath- 
ers — a  class  among  whom  he  was  born,  and  with  whom  he  has  alwaj-s  associated 
himself,  having  no  aspirations  to  bo  considered  otherwise  than  as  one  of  them. 
His  emblematic  drawings  possess  peculiar  merits:  plain,  direct  to  the  point,  with 
as  little  circumlocution  as  possible,  boldly  executed,  and  often  attractive  by  their 
quaintness.  Elegance  is  not  attempted;  but  they  jjossess  the  high  merit  of  en- 
forcing vital  truths. 

Some  thirty  years  since,  Mr.  B.  traveled  over  his  native  State  of  Connecticut 
in  a  little  one-horse  wagon,  visiting  eveiy  part,  taking  views  in  pencil  of  cities, 
villages,  and  all  places  of  interest,  collecting,  at  the  same  time,  statistics  and 
other  matters  of  interest  for  publication.  The  result  was  a  work  entitled  ''Con- 
necticut Historical  Collections."  Each  town  was  separately  described,  and  a 
great  variety  of  subjects  in  the  past  or  present  received  a  place,  and  the  work 
may  be  considered  as  a  sort  of  scrap-book  for  every  thing  relative  to  the  history 
of  the  State  and  its  inhabitants.  The  drawings  of  villages  and  objects  of  interest 
are  honestly  given  as  they  appeared  at  the  time  when  they  were  drawn.  This 
work  was  succeeded  by  others  on  the  same  plan,  by  Mr.  B.  and  others,  on  Massa- 
chusetts, New  York,  New  Jersc}',  Pennsylvania,  Virginia,  Ohio,  etc. 

Next  to  having  portraits  of  one's  progenitors,  is  a  2)icture  of  his  birth-place, 
the  school-house  in  which  he  was  introduced  to  the  Avorld  of  letters,  and  the 
church  in  which,  when  a  child,  he  was  taught  the  solemn  truths  of  time,  death, 
and  eternity.  By  means  of  the  above  publications,  these  objects  of  interest  have 
been  preserved  to  multitudes  of  people,  in  an  enduring  form,  probably  to  genera- 
tions yet  to  come.  Mr.  B.'s  work  on  Connecticut  is  the  most  popular  book  which 
has,  as  yet,  been  issued  on  the  history  of  that  State,  or  probably  will  be  for  some 
time  to  come.  It  was  his  intention,  when  ho  commenced  it,  to  produce  a  work 
interesting  to  all  classes.  In  a  note  or  advertisement  to  the  edition  of  1856-7,  he 
says  "this  object  has  been  accomiilishcd;  and  it  is  a  source  of  gratification  that 
it  has  met  with  so  favorable  a  reception,  not  only  from  the  aged  and  intelligent 
part  of  the  community,  but  it  is  also  read  with  deep  interest  by  the  younger 
portion.  Such  men  as  Noah  "Webster,  Chancellor  Kent,  Professor  Silliman,  and 
others,  have  publicly  expressed  their  sense  of  gratification  and  approbation  of  his 
historical  tvorks;  and,  it  may  be  added,  that  those  of  a  strictly  religious  kind 
have  been  received  with  much  favor  by  the  religious  public." 


IV  IXTEODUCTOEY. 


The  work  now  in  the  hands  of  the  reader  is,  in  several  respects,  an  original 
production.  This  is  particularly  true  of  the  introduction  of  numerous  scriptural 
texts,  illustrated  by  one  pictorial  representation.  These  texts,  like  the  marginal 
references  in  our  family  Bibles,  will  be  found  of  much  value  and  instruction  in 
causing  the  scriptures  to  be  searched  to  learn  their  bearing  on  the  subjects  in- 
troduced. How  admirably  they  are  adapted  as  Sunday  lessons  to  children,  to 
teach  them  the  great  truths  of  the  Word  of  God ! 

The  four  emblematical  books  may  be  considered  as  a  collection  of  Pictorial 
Sermons,  in  which  the  whole  body  of  the  principles  of  Evangelical  Christianity, 
and  qualities  of  human  nature,  are  taught  and  enforced  upon  the  mind  with  a 
power  that  mere  words  alone  can  not  convey. 

From  his  early  years,  Mr.  B.  appears  to  have  been  strongly  impressed  with 
religious  subjects,  and  his  sympathies  have  ever  been  with  the  poor  and  the  op- 
pressed. The  three  prominent  books  which  ho  read  during  his  childhood  were 
the  Bible,  Bunyan's  Pilgrim's  Progress,  and  the  New  England  Primer.  Believ- 
ing in  the  equality  of  human  rights,  as  advocated  in  the  doctrines  of  Christianity, 
he  always  opposed  every  thing  to  the  contrary,  in  whatever  form  it  was  pre- 
sented. This  led  him,  when  quite  a  young  man,  to  remonstrate  with  some  of  the 
leading  members  of  the  Chui-ch  with  which  he  was  connected,  against  the  negro 
JDCW,  in  a  house  ei-ected  for  worship,  as  totally  opposed  to  all  Christian  principles. 
As  he  grew  older,  this  feeling  increased.  On  the  10th  of  September,  1831,  he 
was  one  of  the  unpopular  four  who  lifted  up  their  right  hands  as  a  protest 
against  the  denunciatory  resolutions,  passed  at  an  indignant  town-meeting  of  tiie 
citizens  of  New  Haven,  against  the  establishment  of  a  literary  institution  in  that 
place  for  the  education  of  blacks.  ^ 

Mr.  B.  still  resides  in  New  Haven,  and,  since  the  death  of  several  near  relatives 
of  his  family,  has  lived  rather  of  a  retired  and  secluded  life.  His  daughter  Eliza- 
beth wrote  the  poetic  lines  under  each  cut  in  the  Christian  Similitudes,  with  the 
exception  of  the  last  three.  She  accompanied  her  husband,  Captain  Barrett,  on 
voyage  to  China,  died  on  board  his  ship,  of  cholera,  and  was  buried  in  the  China 
Sea,  in  1863.     Since  her  death,  a  volume  of  her  poems   has    been  published. 

Several  years  since,  while  on  a  historical  tour  through  the  United  States,  Mr. 
B.,  when  in  Georgia,  was  prostrated  by  a  fever  occasioned,  he  supposes,  b}-  ex- 
posures in  the  marshes  in  Florida.  He  was  brought  so  low  that  his  life  was  not 
expected.  While  in  this  state,  he  felt  an  earnest  desire  to  live  long  enough  to 
finish  his  book  of  Similitudes,  which  he  had  in  contemplation.  His  prayer  was 
answered,  and  by  the  publishing  of  the  present  volume,  one  leading  object  in  his 
life  is  accomplished.  He  evidently  has  faith  in  God,  and  also  faith  in  himself 
that  he  has  a  mission  to  preach  the  Gospel  of  Jesus  Christ  in  the  manner  used 
in  these  pages.  He  is  fully  of  the  opinion  that  his  emblematic  works  will  live 
long  after  his  departure,  in  accordance  with  a  prophetic  declaration  made  con- 


INTEODUCTORY. 


cerning  him  when  an  infant  in  his  cradle,  the  purport  of  which  was  that  he  would 
become  an  author  whose  productions  would  have  an  influence  on  mankind. 

Evidence  that  his  religious  works  have  already  been  a  blessing  to  the  world, 
'ias  been  abundantly  given.  One  of  his  large  and  early  religious  emblematical 
religious  engravings,  in  the  hands  of  our  American  missionaries,  it  has  been 
said,  was  the  main  instrumentality  for  the  conversion  of  the  Queen  of  the  Sand- 
wich Islands.  The  book  of  Emblems,  which  has,  by  the  hands  of  our  traveling 
agents,  been  widely  circulated  among  "the  plain  people,"  has  been  the  means  of 
converting  many  to  religion.  TVe  here  quote  from  two  letters  lately  received 
from  them.  They  are  but  specimens  of  numberless  others,  not  preserved,  of  a 
similar  import,  received  from  time  to  time. 

One  writes  from  Parma  Center,  New  York: 

"An  old  lady,  bereft  of  her  husband,  sent  from  an  adjoining  county,  asking  me  if  I  would  not 
send  her  my  copy  of  the  Emblems,  as  she  felt  very  lonehj  of  late.  So  I  sent  it  to  her,  and  she  after- 
ward sent  me  back  word  that  she  had  received  great  comfort  from  reading  the  work." 

Another  writes  from  West  Bend,  "Wisconsin: 

"I  have  a  good  library,  but  that  little  book  fills  a  vacant  place,  and  supplies  a  long-felt  want.  I 
can  preach  better  since  I  have  read  it." 

Mr.  B.  has  now  arrived  at  an  age  when,  in  the  ordinary  course  of  nature,  he 
will  soon  be  removed  beyond  the  reach  of  human  praise  or  censure.  He,  indeed, 
now  cares  but  little  what  others  may  say  about  him,  provided  ho  is  in  vhe  right. 
If  he  possesses  any  pride,  it  is  on  account  of  his  being  a  descendant  of  the  Puri- 
tans, the  true  descendants  of  whom 

"  Go  where  duty  leads,  against  a  world  in  arms." 

The  above  considerations  will,  it  is  believed,  remove  all  the  ordinary  objections 
against  publishing  one's  personal  history  while  ho  is  living.  There  is  an  uni- 
versal wish  to  know  something  about  an  author  whoso  works  wo  arc  perusing. 
To  gratify  this  curiosity,  which  can  not  be  condemned,  we,  from  a  long  and 
intimate  acquaintance,  feel  qualified  to  give  the  information  desired. 
19 


CHRISTIAN  SIMILITUDES: 


BEING  A  SKRIES  07 


EMBLEMATIC  ENGRAVINGS, 

WITH  WRITTEN  EXPLANATIONS,  MISCELLANEOUS  OBSERVATIONS, 
AND  RELIGIOUS  REFLECTIONS, 

DESIGNED 

TO  ILLUSTRATE  DIVINE  TRUTH. 

IN  ACCORDANCE  WITH  THE  CARDINAL  PRINCIPLES  OF  CHRISTIANITY. 


"/  have  used  similitudes."     Hosea,  xir :  10. 


BY   JOHN   W.  BARBER, 

AUTHOR   OF   SEVEIlAL    HISTORICAL    AND    R  E  L  IGIO  D  S  W  ORK  8  . 


BRADLEY,  GARRETSON  &  CO., 

PHILADELPHIA,     No.   66     NORTH     FOURTH    STREET, 

WILLIAM  GARRETSON  &  CO., 

GALESBURG,  ILL.,  COLUMBUS,  OHIO,  NASHVILLE,  TENN.,  HOUSTON,  TEXAS, 

SAN  FRANCISCO,  CAL. 

'875. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  mdccclxvx. 

By  JOHN  W.  BARBER, 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  Connecticnt. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  mdccclx. 

By  JOHN  W.  BARBER, 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  Connecticut. 


CHRISTIAN    SIMIUTUDES. 


CONTENTS   OF   CHRISTIAN   SIMILITUDES. 


TAOn 

A  Vision  or  Picture  of  Human  Life 7 

The  Unregenerate  Heart 10 

Peace 13 

Time  brings  up  Truth 16 

The  irlemory  of  Eighteousness 19 

The  Memory  of  Wickedness 22 

Heathenism 25 

Faith,  Hope,  and  Love 30 

Imagination,  Philosophy,  and  Faith 34 

Fear  and  Hope 37 

The  Spiritual  Telegraph 39 

The  Parent  Eagle 42 

The  Natural  Man 44 

The  Awakened  Sinner 47 

The  Pardoned  Sinner 49 

The  Sanctified  Christian 52 

Sunlight  and  Darkness 55 

Justice 58 

The  Unexpected  Deliverer 61 

Ignis-fatuus,  or  False  Light 64 

The  Backslider 68 

The  Trials  of  Faith 70 

Four  Fatal  Steps 73 

The  Concealed  Attack 76 

Cross  Providences 79 

Mutual  Dependence 82 

The  Rock  of  Ecfuge 85 

Ignorance  and  False  Philosophy 88 

The  Incomprehensible 91 

The  Christian  Church 94 

The  Synagogue  of  Satan 97 

The  Safe  Bridge 100 

(5) 


CONTENTS. 


PAGR 

The  Unsafe  Bridge 103 

Seven  Upward  Steps 106 

Seven  Downward  Steps 109 

Death's  Doings 112 

The  Lying  Demon 116 

The  Heavenly  Shepherd 119 

The  Three  Lives 121 

Terror  of  Sin — Joy  of  Salvation 125 

End  of  Human  Greatness 127 

The  Future  of  the  Wicked 130 

The  Future  of  the  Eighteous 133 

The  Hermit,  or  the  Ways  of  Providence  J  ustificd 135 


Christian  Similitudes. 


PSALM 

xc: 
verse  10. 


PSALM 
xxxix: 
verse  5. 


JOB, 

Chap,  v: 
verse  7. 


JOB, 

Chap.  XXX : 

verse  23. 


JAMES, 

Chap,  iv: 
verse  1. 


JOB, 
Chap,  iv : 
verse  20. 


PSALM 
xxxvii: 
verse  2. 


PSALM 

xliv: 
verse  10. 


A  YISIOX,  OR  PICTURE  OF  HUMAN  LIFE. 

His  days  are  determined,  the  number  of  his  months  are  with  thee^ 

thou  hast  appointed  his  bounds  that  he  can  not  pass.    Job  xiv  :  5. 

For  what  is  your  life  ?   it  is  even  a  vapor ^  that  appeareth  for  a 

little  time,  and  then  .vanisheth  away.     James  iv :   14. Vanity 

and  vexation  of  spirit.    Ecel.  i :  14. 

[  Varied/rom  the  vision  of  Jilirza,  by  Addison."] 


•Behold  the  multitude  upon  their  mnrch, 
Across  the  bridge  upheld  by  many  an  arch  ; 
All  ranks,  all  ages,  all  degrees  we  find, 
All  ills,  all  joys,  attendant  on  mankind  : 
Onward  they  press,  but  see,  where'er  they  go, 
What  numbers  fall  into  the  depths  below. 
Here  battle  hurls  its  thousands  from  the  brink, 
And  numbers  more  in  hidden  pitfalls  sink : 


Bubbles,  of  rainbow  tints,  float  into  view; 
Their  ranks  grow  thin  while  they  the  mists  pur' 
Bold  adamantine  rocks  rise  high  around,    [sue: 
Along  whose  base  a  narrow  path  is  found: 
Fair  mansions  shine  afar  on  smiling  plains. 
Happy  is  he  who  entrance  there  obtains. 
And  dark  his  doom,  of  sadness  and  of  woe. 
Who  finds  no  passage  from  those  realms  below. 

(7) 


8 


CIIllISTIAN    SIMILITUDES. 


On  a  certain  day,  devoted  to  religious 
purposes,  I  retired  to  an  elevated  situa- 
tion, in  a  mountainous  district,  for  medi- 
tation and  prayer.  While  there,  I  fell 
into  a  profound  contemplation  on  the 
vanity  of  human  life  ;  and,  passing  from 
one  thought  to  another,  surely,  said  I, 
man's  existence  here  seems  but  a  myste- 
rious shadow,  and  his  life  a/  troublous 
dream.  While  musing  on  this  subject,  I 
fell  into  a  dream,  or  vision.  Methought 
an  angelic  being  stood  before  me,  with  a 
look  of  comj^assion  and  affability,  and 
bade  me  follow  him. 

This  heavenly  being  then  led  me  to 
the  highest  pinnacle  of  the  rock,  and 
placing  me  on  the  top  of  it,  cast  thy  eyes 
eastward,  said  he,  and  tell  me  what  thou 
seest.     I  see,  said  I,  a  deep  valley,  and  a 

freat  tide  of  water  flowing  through  it. 
'he  valley  that  thou  seest,  said  he,  is 
this  lower  world,  called  by  some  the  vale 
of  misery,  and  the  tide  of  water  which 
thou  seest  is  part  of  the  great  tide  of 
eternity. 

AVhat  is  the  reason,  said  I,  that  the 
tide  I  see  rises  out  of  a  thick  mist,  at 
one  end,  and  again  loses  itself  in  a  thick 
mist  at  the  other?  AVhat  thou  seest,  said 
he,  is  that  portion  of  eternity  called  time, 
measured  out  by  the  sun,  and  reaching 
from  the -beginning  of  the  world  to  its 
consummation.  Examine  now,  said  he, 
this  sea  which  is  bounded  at  both  ends, 
and  tell  me  what  thou  discoverest  in  it. 
I  see  a  bridge,  said  I,  standing  in  the 
midst  of  the  tide.  The  bridge  thou 
seest,  said  he,  is  human  life ;  consider  it 
attentively. 

Upon  a  more  leisurely  survey,  I  found 
that  it  consisted  of  threescore  and  ten 
entire  arches,  with  several  broken  arches, 
which,  added  to  those  that  were  entire, 
made  up  the  number  of  about  an  hun- 
dred. As  I  was  counting  the  arches,  my 
conductor  told  me  that  this  bridge  con- 
fiisted,  at  the  first,  of  one  thousand 
arches,  but  that  a  great  flood  swept 
awa}'"  the  rest,  and  left  the  bridge  in 
the  ruinous  condition  I  now  beheld  it; 


but  tell  me  further,  said  he,  what  thou 
discoverest  on  it.  I  see  multitudes  of 
people  passing  over  it,  said  I,  and  u black 
cloud  hanging  on  the  end  of  it. 

As  I  looked  more  attentively,  I  saw 
several  passengers  dropping  through  the 
bridge  into  the  great  tide  flowing  under- 
neath it ;  and,  upon  further  examination, 
perceived  that  there  were  innumerable 
trap-doors  that  lay  concealed  in  the 
bridge,  Avhich  the  passengers  no  sooner 
trod  upon  than  they  fell  through  them 
into  the  tide,  and  instantly  disappeared. 
These  pitfalls  were  set  very  thick  at  the 
entrance  of  the  bridge,  so  that  throngs  of 
human  beings  no  sooner  broke  through 
the  cloud  but  many  of  them  fell  into 
them.  They  grew  thinner  toward  the 
middle,  but  multiplied  and  lay  closer  to- 
gether toward  tnc  arches  that  were 
entire. 

There  were  indeed  some  persons,  but 
their  number  was  very  small,  that  con- 
tinued a  kind  of  hobbling  march  on  the 
broken  arches,  but  fell  through  one  afler 
another,  being  quite  tired  and  spent  after 
so  long  a  walk.  I  observed,  also,  that 
several  persons,  about  the  middle  of  the 
bridge,  had  become  so  weary  of  their 
journey  that  they  refused  to  traverse  the 
bridge  any  longer,  but  threw  themselves 
over  its  side  into  the  dark  waters  below. 

I  passed  some  time  in  the  contempla- 
tion of  the  wonderful  scene  before  me, 
and  the  great  variety  of  objects  which 
it  presented.  My  heart  was  quite  moved 
and  filled  with  melancholy,  to  see  sev- 
eral dropping  unexpectedly  in  the  midst 
of  mirth  and  jollity,  and  catching  at 
every  thing  that  stood  by  to  save  them- 
selves. Multitudes  were  very  busy  in 
catching  at  bubbles  which  glittered  in 
their  eyes,  and  danced  before  them  ;  but 
often  when  they  thought  themselves  in 
reach  of  them,  their  iPooting  gave  way, 
and  they  sunk  into  the  depths  below. 
Some  were  looking  up  toward  the  heavens 
in  a  thoughtful  posture,  and  in  the  midst 
of  a  speculation,  stumbled  and  fell  out 
of  sight. 


CHRISTIAN    SIMILITUDES. 


About  the  middle  of  the  bridge  I  observed 
bodies  of  armed  men  running  to  and  fro,  and 
thrusting  large  numbers  of  their  fellows  on 
the  trap-doors  and  pitfalls,  which  did  not  seem 
to  lie  in  their  way,  and  which  they  might  have 
escaped,  had  they  not  been  thus  forced  upon 
them.  I  observed,  also,  that  he  who  was  tiie 
most  expert,  and  who  succeeded  in  casting  the 
largest  number  into  the  tide  below,  was  held 
in  the  greatest  estimation  by  his  fellows,  and 
hia  name  was  proclaimed  from  one  end  of  the 
bridge  to  the  other. 

While  viewing  these  melancholy  scenes,  I 
perceived  flights  of  birds  hovering  about  the 
bridge,  and  settling  upon  it  from  time  to  time; 
some  of  tJiese  were  of  beautiful  plumage,  but 
most  of  them  were  of  the  unclean  kind,  such 
as  vultures,  ravens,  cormorants,  etc.  Not  com- 
prehending this,  I  looked  up  to  my  conductor 
for  information.  These,  said  he,  are  malice, 
envy,  avarice,  superstition,  despair,  love,  with 
the  like  passions  and  cares  that  infest  human 
life. 

I  here  fetched  a  deep  sigh.  Alas,  said  I, 
man  was  made  in  vain  !  how  he  is  given  away 
to  misery  and  mortality  I  tortured  in  life,  and 
swallowed  up  in  death  1  My  heavenly  con- 
ductor being  moved  with  compassion  toward 
me,  bid  me  quit  so  uncomfortable  a  prospect. 
Look  no  more,  said  he,  on  man  in  the  first 
stage  of  his  existence,  in  his  setting  out  for 
eternity;  but  cast  thy  eye  into  that  thick  mist 
into  which  the  tide  bears  the  several  genera- 
tions of  mortals  that  fall  into  it. 

I  directed  my  sight  as  1  was  ordered,  some- 
what upward,  and  (whether  or  no  the  good 
conductor  strengthened  it  with  any  supernatu- 
ral force,  or  dissipated  i)art  of  the  mist  that 
was  before  too  thick  for  the  eye  to  penetrate) 
I  saw  the  valley  opened  at  one  end,  and  spread- 
ing forth  into  an  immense  ocean,  that  had  a 
high  rock  of  adamant  running  through  the 
midst  of  it,  and  dividing  it  into  two  equal 
parts.  Clouds  and  pitch  darkness  appeared  on 
the  left  of  the  a<lamanline  wall,  while  on  the 
right,  amid  the  bright  waters,  were  discovered 
innumerable  islands,  having  beautiful  mansions, 
delicious  fruits,  and  flowers  of  every  hue.  I 
perceived  that  all  the  wicked,  when  they  fell 
from  the  bridge,  passed  into  the  abode  of  dark- 
ness, while  the  righteous  were  conducted  to 
regions  of  light  and  glory. 

I  could  see  persons  dressed  in  glorious  habits, 
with  crowns  and  garlands  upon  their  headsj 


passing  among  the  trees,  lying  down  by  the 
side  of  fountains,  or  resting  on  beds  of  flowers. 
I  also  heard  the  voice  of  har|)ers,  "  harping 
upon  their  harps."  Ever  and  anon  I  heard 
heavenly  music  from  myriad  voices  round, 
rising  like  the  voice  of  many  waters,  soft, 
solemn,  and  sweet.  The  light  of  the  glory  of 
the  Eternal  beamed  into  every  habitation  and 
into  every  heart.  The  joy  of  every  one  was 
full,  for  God  himself  dwelt  among  them,  and 
all  sorrow  and  sighing  had  forever  fled  away. 

My  soul  was  filled  with  gladness  at  the  dis- 
covery of  such  a  delightful  and  heavenly  scene, 
and  1  wished  myself  in  that  blessed  region.  I 
wished  for  the  wings  of  an  eagle,  that  I  might 
fly  away  to  those  happy  mansions,  but  my 
conductor  told  me  there  was  no  passage  to 
them,  except  through  the  gates  of  death,  that 
I  saw  every  moment  upon  the  bridge. 

The  islands,  said  he,  that  lie  so  fresh  and 
green  before  thee,  studding  every-where  the 
vast  expanse  of  bright  waters,  are  more  than 
thou  canst  number.  The  mansions  that  thou 
seest  are  imperishable,  they  endure  forevea* ; 
the  trees  and  bowers,  clad  in  living  green,  decay 
not;  the  bright  and  beautiful  flowers  wither 
not,  but  bloom  in  an  eternal  spring. 

These  heavenly  places  are  prepared  for  the 
abode  of  the  good  of  all  ages  and  nations, 
after  death ;  each  of  the  numberless  islands 
and  mansions  are  adapted  precisely  to  the 
wants  and  capacity  of  those  who  inhabit  them. 
There  are  degrees  in  human  virtue ;  some  ex- 
cel others,  and  will  be  rewarded  accordingly. 
All  the  righteous  will  be  happy,  but  there  are 
different  degrees,  as  there  will  be  in  the  punish- 
ment of  the  wicked.  As  one  star  difTcrcth 
from  another  in  glory,  so  will  it  be  hereafter 
with  the  souls  of  the  righteous. 

Are  not  the  rewards  of  the  righteous  worth 
contending  for  ?  said  my  conductor.  Is  death 
to  be  feared,  that  conveys  thee  to  so  happy  an 
existence  ?  I  gazed  with  inexpressible  pleasure 
on  these  happy  i.slands.  Beholding  some  new 
manifestation  of  the  divine  presence  and  glory, 
I  sank  overpowered  with  ecstasy.  Recovering, 
my  conductor  had  left  me;  the  vision  had  de- 
parted. I  was  alone,  and  instead  of  the  vast 
flowing  tide,  the  arched  bridge,  the  multitude 
passing  over  it,  and  the  happy  islands,  1  was 
in  the  midst  of^  a  familiar  grove;  and  instead 
of  heavenly  and  ravishing  music,  I  heard,  in 
the  distance,  the  "church-going  bell"  calling 
the  villagers  to  their  evening  worship. 


10 


CHEISTIAN     SIMILITUDES, 


GENESIS, 

Chaj).  vi: 

verse  5. 


PSALM 

xiv: 
verse  1. 


JOB, 

Chap.  XV ; 
verse  16. 


EPHESIAXS, 
Chap,  ii: 
verse  3. 


PSALM 

Ixviii: 
verse  3. 


JOB, 

Chap.  XXI ; 

verse  IJ^ 


1  JOHN, 
Chap,  v: 
verse  19. 


EOIklANS, 

Chap.  1: 

verses  29-32. 


THE  UNREGENERATE  HEART. 

The  heart  is  dccciiful  above  all  things  and  desperately  wicked.     Jere- 
miah XVII :  9. Filled  with  all  unrighteousness.     Rom.  i :  29. 

The  habitation  of  devils.     Rev.  xviii :  2. For  out  of  the  heart 

jyroceed  evil  thoughts,  murders,  adulteries,  etc.    Matt,  xv :  19. 


See  here,  the  heart  of  sinful  man  !  it  swarms 
With  unclean  beasts,  the  vices'  various  forms; 
The  flaunting  Peacock,  well  his  pride  portrays, 
And  Folly  by  the  Ape's  unmeaning  ways  : 
Deceit,  the  Serpent's  wily  arts  disclose, 
And  Murder's  form,  the  foul  Hyena  shows. 
Ill-will  and  anger  in  the  Tiger  live, 
And  fierce  Revenge,  that  knows  not  to  forgive ; 
Fraud  aptly  shows  the  weeping  Crocodile, 


Which  draws  its  victim  by  its  piteous  wile: 
The  servile  Toad,  the  type  of  Covetousness, 
The  Goat,  the  emblem  of  Licentiousness ;      [show, 
The  groveling   Swine,  the   gluttonous  man  must 
Who  sinks  his  nature,  meanest  brute  below; 
Blindness  of  mind,  the  darkness  of  the  soul, 
We  find  depicted  in  the  groping  Mole  ; 
All  these,  the  emblems  of  the  soul  are  seen, 
A  cage  of  beasts  and  reptiles,  base,  unclean. 


The  engraving  is  an  emblematic  rep- 
resentation of  the  heart  of  man  in  the 
sight  of  God  while  in  his  nnrcgenerate 
state.  It  is  filled  with  living  and  hate- 
ful creatures,  who  make  it  their  abode, 
and  are  represented  as  breaking  out  from 
its   surface   on   every   side.     From   the 


number,  variety,  and  character  of  the 
beasts,  reptiles,  etc.,  exhibited,  it  may 
be  said  to  be  like  fallen  Babylon,  "the 
habitation  of  devils,  the  hold  of  every 
foul  spirit,  and  a  cage  of  every  unclean 
and  hateful  bird." 

"  Whatever  infidels  may  say  respecting 


CHRISTIAN     SIMILITUDES, 


U 


the  innocence  of  mankind,"  says  a  cele- 
brated divine,  "lie  that  made  man,  and 
that  best  knows  what  he  has  made,  gives 
a  diflPerent  account  of  him."  He  informs 
us  "that  the  heart  of  man,"  of  all  man- 
kind, of  every  man  born  into  the  world, 
"is  desperately  wicked,"  and  that  it  is 
"deceitful  above  all  things  ;  "  so  that  we 
may  well  ask,  "Who  can  know  it?" 

In  the  picture  Pride  and  Folly  are  rep- 
resented by  the  Peacock  and  Ape,  seen 
as  rising  from  the  unregenerate  heart. 
Thus  was  it  first  in  heaven  itself,  by 
"Lucifer,  son  of  the  morning,"  till  then, 
undoubtedly,  "one  of  the  first,  if  not 
the  first  archangel."  "Thou  saidst,  I 
will  sit  upon  the  side  of  the  north — I 
will  be  like  the  Most  High."  Here  was 
pride — here  Avas  the  true  origin  of  evil. 
Hence  came  the  inexhaustible  flood  of 
evils  upon  the  lo%ver  world.  When  Satan 
had  once  transfused  his  own  self-will  and 
pride  into  the  parents  of  mankind,  all 
manner  of  wickedness  soon,  rushed  in  ; 
all  ungodliness  and  unrighteousness, 
shooting  out  into  crimes  of  every  kind, 
soon  filled  the  earth  with  all  manner  of 
abominations.  Folly  may  oftentimes 
have  the  semblance  of  wisdom,  but  it  is 
in  appearance  only.  So  it  is  with  the 
face  of  an  ape,  whicb  has  a  resemblance 
to  that  of  a  human  being,  but  upon  a 
closer  inspection  he  is  found  to  bo  noth- 
ing but  a  beast. 

Deceit  and  Murder  arc  among  the  first 
crimes  which  appear  in  the  human  heart. 
The  Serpent,  the  form  and  emblem  of  the 
first  deceiver  of  mankind,  is  considered 
as  an  emblem  of  deceit;  and  the  Hyena, 
who,  wild  and  savage  in  appearance, 
tears  open  graves  and  feasts  upon  the 
bodies  of  the  dead,  may  represent  the 
murderer.  Deceit  is  universally  preva- 
lent among  mankind.  The  celebrated 
John  Weslc}*,  in  1733,  made  the  follow- 
ing entry  in  his  memorandum  book  :  "I 
am  this  day  thirty  years  old  ;  and  till  this 
.  day,  I  know  not  that  I  have  met  with  one 
person  of  that  age,  except  in  my  father's 
house,  who  did  not  use  guile,  more  or 


less."  The  devil  is  stated  to  be  a  mur- 
derer from  the  beginning,"  "a  liar,"  and 
his  children,  or  those  over  whom  he  has 
influence,  have  the  spirit  within. 

Anger  and  lU-u-ill,  represented  by  a 
growling  tiger,  have  been  defined  by  an 
ancient  philosopher,  "a  sense  of  injury 
received,  with  a  desire  of  revenge." 
This  passion  seems  inherent  in  the  hu- 
man heart,  where  is  the  human  being 
who  has  not  been  guilty  of  its  indul- 
gence ?  Revenge  is  the  off'spring  of  anger 
and  stops  at  nothing  that  is  violent  or 
wicked.  The  histories  of  all  ages  are 
full  of  the  tragical  outrages  prompted  by 
this  diabolical  feeling.  See  how  it  glows 
in  the  breast  of  the  Indian  savage. 
Neither  time  nor  distance  can  assuagts 
his  thirst  for  revenge.  He  pursues  his 
victim  through  forests,  floods,  and  fields, 
by  night  and  day,  in  cold  and  in  heat,  if 
so  that  he  can  imbrue  his  hands  in  the 
blood  of  his  enemy. 

A  certain  Italian  having  disarmed  his 
enemy,  and  got  him  completely  into  his 
power,  told  him  there  was  no  possible 
way  for  him  to  escape  death  but  by  re- 
nouncing and  cursing  Jesus  Christ,  the 
Savior  of  the  world.  The  miserable  and 
timorous  Avretch,  to  preserve  his  life, 
complied.  With  a  demoniacal  smile,  the 
other  exclaimed,  "I  will  now  have  my 
full  revenge — I  will  destroy  th}'  soul  and 
body  at  one  blow ! "  and  then  struck  him 
dead  on  the  spot. 

Fraud,  the  vice  so  common  among  the 
wicked,  lias  been  often  represented  by  the 
Crocodile,  as  this  creature,  it  is  said,  in  order 
to  bring  men  or  beasts  within  reach  of  its  ra- 
pacious jaws,  utters  forth  a  piteous  and  dis- 
tressful cry.  Some  say  that  it  devours  wliat- 
ever  it  catches,  all  but  tlie  head,  and  then  weeps 
because  there  is  no  more  to  satisfy  its  ravenous 
appetite.  However  this  may  be,  "Crocodile's 
tears"  have  become  a  proverb.  A  covetous  and 
earthly-minded  disposition  is  sometimes  repre- 
sented by  the  figure  of  the  toad,  who  gets  its 
living  close  to  the  eartli. 

Licentiousness  and  Glutton^/,  (represented  by 
a  Goat  and  Hojr,)  are  termed  beastly  vices,  as 
by  them  man  is  assimilated  and  degraded  to 
the  level  of  a  beasL     Guilt  is  represented  by 


12 


CHRISTIAN    SIMILITUDES, 


the  Bat,  a  creature  partly  partaking  of  the  na- 
ture of  the  beast,  and  partly  that  of  a  bird. 
It  seeks  obscurity,  and  generally  moves  or  flies 
about  during  the  shades  of  night,  and  appears 
to  have  a  peculiar  aversion  to  the  liglit  of  the 
sun.  Blindness,  moral  or  spiritual,  is  repre- 
sented by  the  Mole.  The  eyes  of  this  animal 
ate  extremely  small,  and  perfectly  hid  in  its 
fur,  and  it  is  said  by  naturalists  that  it  has  the 
])Ower  of  withdrawing  or  exerting  them  at 
pleasure.  He  that  is  spirituall}'^  blind,  becomes 
BO  by  his  own  choice,  and,  like  the  Mole,  has 
the  power  to  withdraw  liis  eyesight  from  objects 
he  does  not  like  to  contemplate. 

The  wisest  of  heathens  have  borne  testimony 
to  the  universal  depravity  of  the  human  heart. 
It  was  indeed  their  common  opinion  that  there 
was  a  time  when  men  in  general  were  virtuous 
and  happy;  this  they  called  the  golden  age. 
This  belief,  which  pervaded  almost  all  nations, 
probably  had  its  origin  in  the  account  given  by 
inspiration  of  our  first  parents  in  the  garden  of 
Eden.  But  it  was  generally  believed  that  this 
happy  age  had  expired  long  ago,  and  men  are 
now  living  in  the  midst  of  the  iron  age^  at  the 
commencement  of  which,  the  poet  says: 

"Immediately  broke  in. 
With  a  full  tide,  all  wickedness  and  sin, 
Shame,  truth,  fidelity,  swift  fled  away. 
And  cursed  thirst  of  gold  bore  unresisted  sway." 

In  the  days  of  Noah,  deceit,  anger,  and  mur- 
der stalked  abroad.  The  earth  became  a  field 
of  blood.  Revenge,  cruelty,  ambition,  with  all 
sorts  of  injustice,  every  species  of  public  and 
.private  wrongs,  were  universally  diffused. 
Hatred,  envy,  malice,  blood-thirstiness,  and 
falsehood,  rode  triumphant,  till  the  Creator, 
looking  down  from  heaven  upon  an  incorrigi- 
ble race,  swept  them  from  the  face  of  the 
earth.  But  how  little  were  the  following  gen- 
erations improved  by  the  severe  judgment! 
Those  that  lived  after  the  flood  do  not  appear 
to  have  been  much,  if  any,  better  than  those 
who  lived  before  it.  Wickedness,  in  all  its 
forms,  again  soon  overspread  the  earth,  in 
every  nation,  city,  and  family.  Hence,  it  is  a 
melancholy  truth,  that  (excepting  where  the 
Spirit  of  God  has  made  a  difference)  all  man- 
kifld,  now,  as  well  as  those  four  thousand 
years  since,  "have  corrupted  their  ways  be- 
fore the  Lord;  and  every  imagination  of  the 
thoughts  of  the  human  heart  is  evil,  only  evil, 
«nd  that  continually."  From  it  springs  everv 
-species  of  vice  and  wickedness:  hence,  sin 
■against  God,  our  neighbors,  and  ourselves. 
Against  God>— forgetfulnesa   and  contempt  of 


God,  of  Ilia  name,  his  worship,  his  word,  his 
ordinances;  atheism  on  the  one  hand,  and  idol- 
atry on  the  other;  love  of  the  world,  desires  of 
the  flesh,  pride  of  life,  covetousness,  etc.  The 
love  of  honor  that  cometh  from  men;  the  love 
of  the  creature  more  than  the  Creator. 

The  unregenerate  heart  is  such  an  inexhaus- 
tible source  of  ungodliness  and  unrighteous- 
ness, deeply  and  strongly  rooted  in  the  soul, 
that  nothing  less  than  Almighty  grace  can  re- 
move it.  Hence  arises  a  harvest  of  evils, 
among  which  is, 

"  That  foul  monster.  War,  that  we  meet,  [ation ; 
Lays  deep  the  work,  the  noblest  work  of  the  cre- 
Whicli  wears  in  vain  its  Maker's  glorious  image, 
Unprivileged  from  thee," 

In  the  train  of  war  are  murder,  violence,  and 
cruelty  of  every  kind.  And  all  these  abomi- 
nations are  not  only  found  in  heathen  nations, 
but  also  in  what  are  called  Christian  countries. 
How  artfully  does  the  unregenerate  heart  con- 
ceal from  itself  its  desperate  wickedness ! 
Who  knoweth  his  own  heart  ?  Who  can  tell 
the  depth  of  its  enmity  against  God  ?  Who 
knoweth  how  deeply  it  is  sunk  into  the  nature 
of  Satan  ?  From  these  considerations,  may 
we  not  learn  that  "  he  who  trusts  his  own 
heart  is  a  fool !  "  How  many,  even  in  this 
life,  by  casting  off  the  fear  of  God,  and  trust- 
ing their  own  hearts,  liave  reduced  themselves 
to  miserable  extremities.  A  striking  example 
of  this  is  presented  in  the  life  of  George  Vil- 
liers,  created,  by  James  I,  Earl,  Marquis,  and 
afterward  Duke  of  Buckingham,  and  invested 
with  many  high  and  lucrative  offices.  He  is 
described  as  a  gay,  witty  nobleman,  with  great 
vivacity,  but  a  pretended  atheist,  without  any 
principles  of  honor  or  integrity.  Finally,  dis- 
graced and  sent  to  prison,  he  died  in  great  want 
and  obscurity,  despised  by  all,  an  example  of 
what  a  depraved  and  unregenerate  heart  some- 
times brings  its  possessor  to  even  in  this  life. 
His  situation  is  thus  described  by  Mr.  Pope: 

"In  the  worst  inn's  worst,  with  mat  half  hung, 
The  floor  of  plaster,  and  the  walls  of  dung; 
On  once  a  flock  bed,  but  repair'd  with  straw. 
The  tape-tied  curtains,  never  meant  to  draw, 
The  George  and  Garter  dangling  from  that  bed, 
AVhere  tawdry  yellow  strove  with  dirty  red, 
Great  Villiers  lies:  alas  !  how  chang'd  from  him, 
That  life  of  pleasure,  and  that  soul  of  whim ! 
No  wit  to  flatter  left  of  all  his  store! 
No  fool  to  laugh  at,  which  he  valued  more ! 
There,  victor  of  his  health,  of  fortune,  friends, 
And  fame,  this  lord  of  useless  thousands  ends." 


CHRISTIAN    SIMILITUDES, 


13 


1  PETER, 
Chap,  iii: 
verse  11. 


PSALM 

cxix: 

verso  1G5 


ISAIAH, 

Chap,  xxxii: 
verse  17. 


PROVERBS, 
Chap,  iii: 
verse  17. 


MARK, 
Chap,  ix: 
verso  50. 

ROMANS, 
Chaj).  viii: 


^m  verse  6. 


GALATIANS, 

Chap,  v: 
verse  22. 


MALACHI, 

Chap,  ii : 
versos  5,  6. 


PEACE. 

Great  peace  have  they  that  love   thy  law.     Ps.  cxtx:  165. 

Blessed  are  the  peace-makers.     3Iatt.  v  :  9. On  earth  peace  and 

good  will  to  men.    Luke  ii:  14. Righteousness,  peace,  and  joy. 

Bom.  XIV:  17. 


Behold  the  ser.iph  robed  in  spotless  white, 
Peace,  Heavens  own  daughter,  in  its  radiance 

bright, 
Within  her  hand  the  Olive-branch  she     ears. 
And  the  meek  lamb,  her  gentle  nature  shares. 
Above,  on  outspread  pinions  floats  the  dove. 
The  snowy  emblem  of  a  fathers  love, 
The  shield  she  bears  is  love,  she  lives  to  bless, 
'^'he  law  she  bears,  resting  on  righteousness. 


Beyond,  beside  the  Indian,  gentle  Penn, 
In  friendly  treaty  meets  his  fellow-men. 
Takes  from  the  red  man's  hand  the  pipe  of  peaco. 
And  seeks  to  bid  all  hostile  feelings  cease. 
The  soldier  waves  the  flag  of  truce  above, 
That  tells  of  friendliness,  and  truth,  and  lovo. 
Hail  heaven-born  Peace  I    who  came  to  shed 

below. 
The  light  of  joy,  to  banish  human  woe. 


Clad  in  Bimplo  garments,  "white  and 
clean,  an  emblem  of  purity  iinsullied, 
Peaco,  the  daughter  of  Heaven,  stands 
forth,  holding  the  olive-branch  in  one 
hand,  and  the  shield  of  Ijovo  in  the 
other.  She  holds  up  the  law,  which 
rests  on,  or  is  firmly  upheld  by,  the  sure 
foundation  of  Righteousnefts.  She  Avards 
off  the  attacks  of  her  enemies  by  the 


shield  of  Love;  a  lamb,  the  emblem  of 
innocence  and  harmlossncss,  is  seen  by 
her  side. 

In  the  back-ground  is  seen  William 
Penn,  the  founder  of  Pennsylvania,  in 
the  act  of  making  a  treaty  of  perpetual 
peace  with  tho  Indians,  one  of  whom, 
hViving  the  pipe  of  peace,  is  taking  him 
by  the  hand;  on  the  other  side  is  the 


u 


CHEISTIAN    SIMILITUDES. 


figure  of  a  warrior,  liolding  up  tlie  wliite 
flag  of  truce.  Above  tliem  all  is  the 
figure  of  the  dove,  an  emblem  of  the 
Holy  Spirit,  whose  influence  pervades 
the  whole  scene. 

In  a  religious  sense,  the  word  peace 
signifies  every  blessing  that  relates  either 
to  the  soul  or  the  body  to  time  or  to 
eternity.  Peace-makers  are  those  lovers 
of  Grod  and  man,  who  utterly  abhor  all 
strife  and  debate,  all  variance  and  con- 
tention; and,  accordingly,  labor  with  all 
their  might,  either  to  prevent  this  fire  of 
hell  being  kindled,  or  when  it  is  kin- 
dled, from  breaking  out;  or  when  it  is 
broken  out,  to  extinguish  it.  They  en- 
deavor to  calm  the  stormy  spirits  of  men, 
to  quiet  their  turbulent  passions,  to  soften 
the  minds  of  contending  parties,  and,  if 
possible,  to  reconcile  them.  It  is  the  joy 
of  their  heart  to  promote,  to  confirm,  to 
increase  mutual  good-will  among  men, 
especially  Christian  men,  that  they  may 
"  walk  worthy  of  the  vocation  where- 
with they  are  called;  with  all-lowliness 
and  meekness,  with  long-suffering,  for- 
bearing one  another  in  love;  endeavor- 
ing to  keep  the  unity  of  the  Spirit  in  the 
bond  of  peace." 

"But,  in  the  full  extent  of  the  word," 
says  a  celebrated  divine,  "  a  peace-maker 
is  one,  as  he  has  opportunity,  doeth  good 
unto  all  men  ;  one  that,  being  filled  with 
the  love  of  God,  and  of  all  mankind, 
can  not  confine  the  expressions  of  it  to 
his  own  family,  or  friends,  or  acquaint- 
ances, or  party,  or  to  those  of  his  own 
opinions — no,  nor  those  of  who  ai'O  par- 
lakers  of  like  precious  faith;  but  steps 
over  all  these  narrow  bounds,  that  he 
may  do  good  to  every  man,  that  he  may 
some  way  or  another  manifest  his  love 
to  his  neighbors  and  strangers,  friends 
and  enemies.  He  does  good,  not  of  one 
]>articular  kind,  but  good  in  general,  in 
every  possible  way;  employing  herein 
all  his  talents  of  every  kind,  all  his 
powers  and  faculties  of  body  and  soul, 
all  his  fortune,  his  interest,  his  reputa- 
tion :  desiring  only,,  that  when  his  Lord 


cometh,  he  may  say,  'Well  done  good 
and  faithful  servant ! ' " 

The  treaty  of  William  Penn  with  the 
Indians  has  acquired  a  wide  celebrity. 
It  was  made  in  the  spirit  of  love,  good- 
will and  kindness  toward  the  Indians. 
Thib  treaty  between  the  Quakers,  or 
Friends,  on  the  one  part,  and  the  Indians 
on  the  other,  is  one  of  the  few  which 
has  been  faithfully  kept  by  both  parties. 
"  It  was  sanctioned  by  no  formal  oath," 
says  one,  "and  it  is  about  the  only  one 
which  was  ever  kept."  Such  was  the 
spirit  of  kindness  and  peace  manifested 
by  Penn  and  his  companions,  that  it  is 
said  that  the  Indians  never  killed  or  in- 
jured a  Friend,  knowing  him  to  be  such. 

Unarmed,  except  by  Love,  in  danger's  hour, 
Penn  moves  midst  savage  men;  his  power  they 
feel: 

All-conquering  love!  more  mighty  in  thy  power, 
Than  thundering  cannon,  or  the  glittering  steel. 

Like  coals  of  fire,  Love  melts  the  stubborn  will 
Of  those  who  lurk  as  tigers  for  their  prey, 

With  savage  hate,  with  murderous  aim  to  kill. 
The  warrior  stops,  looks  up,  and  owns  her  sway. 

And  he  who's  girt  around  by  Love,  may  stand 
Safe,  as  if  circled  by  a  wall  of  lire! 

Hate  will  not  lift  'gainst  him  the  murderous  hand, 
And  feelings  hard  are  melted  and  expire! 

There  is  no  true  peace  which  can  ever 
be  incorporated  with  a  worldly  or  an  ir- 
religious life — no  true  peace  which  can 
accord  with  the  ignorance  or  pride  of 
infidelity.  But  great  peace  have  they 
who  live  by  the  faith  of  the  Son  of  God, 
and  love  God's  law.  The  peace  of  God 
rules  and  quiets  their  hearts  amidst  the 
evils  of  life,  and  with  every  change,  they 
are  passing  from  strength  to  strength, 
anticipating,  by  faith  and  confidence,  the 
blessedness  and  the  security  of  an  eter- 
nal world.  In  storms  and  tempests  here 
below,  there  is  a  calmness  in  the  breast 
of  those  who  do  the  will  of  God.  They 
are  at  peace  with  him  by  the  blood  of 
reconciliation  ;  at  peace  with  themselves, 
by  the  answer  of  a  good  conscience,  and 
the   subjection  of  those   desires  which 


CHEISTIAN    SIMILITUDES. 


15 


war  against  the  soul ;  at  peace  witli  all 
men  by  the  spirit  of  charity ;  and  the 
whole  creation  is  so  at  peace  with  them 
*Hhat  all  things  work  together  for  their 
good."  No  extremes  can  rob  them  of 
this  "great  j)eace."  Heavenly  love  sur- 
mounts every  obstacle,  and  runs  with 
delight  "the  way  of  God's  command- 
ments." 

Says  one,  who  is  giving  an  account  of 
the  peace  of  God  which  many  have  felt  at 
the  hour  of  their  dissolution,  "We  can 
only  say  that  it  is  an  unspeakable  calm- 
ness and  serenity  of  spirit;  a  tranquil- 
lity in  the  blood  of  Christ,  which  keeps 
the  souls  of  believers,  in  their  latest  hour, 
even  as  a  garrison  keeps  a  city ;  which 
keeps,  not  only  their  hearts,  all  their 
passions  and  affections,  but  also  their 
minds,  all  the  motions  of  their  under- 
standing and  imagination,  and  all  the 
workings  of  their  reason,  in  Christ  Jesus." 
t^i  ^  ^  ^^  ^  ^' 

The  Apostle,  in  writing  to  his  Roman 
brethren,  says,  "If  it  be  possible,  as 
much  as  lieth  in  you,  live  peaceably  with 
all  men.  Says  a  commentator,  "To  live 
in  a  state  of  peace  with  one's  neighbors, 
friends,  and  even  family,  is  often  very 
difficult.  But  the  man  who  loves  God 
must  labor  after  this ;  for  it  is  indispen- 
sably necessary,  even  for  his  own  sake. 
A  man  can  not  have  a  misunderstand- 
ing with  others  without  having  his  own 
peace  materially  disturbed.  He  must, 
to  be  happy,  be  at  peace  with  all  men, 
whether  they  will  be  so  with  him  or  not. 
The  apostle  knew  that  it  would  be  difli- 
cult  to  get  into  and  maintain  such  a  state, 


as  his  own  words  amply  prove — and  if 
it  be  possible,  as  much  as  lieth  in  you, 
live  peaceably.  Though  it  be  but  barely 
possible,  labor  after  it. 

"  The  more  quietly  and  peaceably  we 
all  get  on,  the  better — the  better  for  our- 
selves— the  better  for  our  neighbors.  In 
nine  cases  out  of  ten,  the  wisest  course 
is,  if  a  man  cheats  jon,  to  quit  dealing 
with  him ;  if  he  is  abusive,  quit  his  com- 
pany;  if  he  slanders  you,  take  care  so  to 
live  that  nobody  will  believe  him  :  no 
matter  who  he  is,  or  how  he  misuses 
you,  the  wisest  way  is  generally  to  let 
him  alone;  for  there  is  nothing  better 
than  this  cool,  calm,  quiet  way  of  deal- 
ing with  the  wrongs  we  meet  with." 

PEACE  AMONG  NATIONS. 
'Oh  first  of  human  blessings,  and  supreme! 
Fair  Peace!  how  lovely,  how  delightful  thou; 
By  whose  wide  tie,  the  kindred  sons  of  men, 
Like  brothers,  live  in  amity  combined. 
And  unsuspicious  faith;    while  honest  toil 
Gives  every  joy;   and  to  those  joys  a  right 
Which  idle,  barbarous  rapine  but  usurps. 

»  a  -s  « 

Oh  Peace  1  thou  source  and  soul  of  social  lifel 
Beneath  whose  calm  inspiring  influence, 
Science  his  views  enlarges,  art  refines. 
And  swelling  commerce  opens  all  her  ports- 
Blest  be  the  man  that  gives  us  thee! 
Who  bids  the  trumpet  hush  its  horrid  clang 
Nor  blow  the  giddy  nations  into  rage: 
Who  sheathes  the  murd'rous  blade ;  the  deadly 

gun 
Into  the  well-piled  armory  returns, 
And  every  vigor  from  the  work  of  death, 
To  grateful  industry  converting,  makes 
The  country  flourish,  and  the  city  smiles! 

«  s-  »  « 

Far  as  the  breeze  can  bear  the  gifts  of  peace; 
Till  all  the  happy  nations  catch  the  song.' 


16 


CHRISTIAN    SIMILITUDES. 


GENESIS, 

Chap,  xxiv: 

verse  27. 


PSALM 

xxxi: 

verses  4,  5. 

PSALM 

Ixxxv: 
verse  IL 


PROVERBS, 
Chap,  xii: 
verse  19. 


PROYERBS, 

Chap,  xvi: 

verse  6. 


PSALM 

Ixiii: 
verse  11. 

MATTHEW, 
Chap.  V : 
verse  11. 


LAMENTA'NS, 

Chap,  iii: 
verse  26. 


TIME  BRINGS  UP  TRUTH. 


The  Truth  of  the  Lord  endureth  forever.     Ps.  cxvii:  2. 

is  nothing  hid  which  shall  not  be  manifested.     Mark  iv  :  22. 


■There 


Time  brings  up  Truth  at  last,  though  buried  long, 
Though  Slander,  Envy,  Strife,  her  foes  are  strong. 
In  hrr  dark  prison,  bound,  she  may  have  lain. 
The  light  of  day  shall  o'er  her  shine  again. 
Despond  not  drooping  heart  in  darkness  bound, 
Whom  cruel  slander  long  had  power  to  wound ; 


What  though  it  seem  the  hour  would  ne'er  be 
past, 

Time  the  avenger  sets  it  right  at  last. 

AVait  thou  for  Time!   oh  stricken,  slandered  one, 

Though  treachery  wound,  and  friends  thy  path- 
way shun. 


Time  is  here  represented  as  bringing 
Truth  out  of  a  cavern,  in  which  she  had 
long  been  confined  by  Slander,  Envy,  and 
Strife,  her  principal  enemies,  who  are 
shrinking  away  from  the  scene.  The 
following  stanzas  are  from  an  ancient 
publication,  underneath  a  cut  by  which 
our  engraving  was  suggested : 

Three  Furies  fell,  which  turne  the  world  to  ruthe, 
Both  Envy,  Strife  and  Slander  here  appeare. 

In  dungeon  dark  they  long  inclosed  Truth, 
But  Time  at  length  did  loose  his  daughter 
deare, 


And  sets  aloft  the  lady  bright 

Who  things    long   hid   reveals    and  brings  to 
light. 

Though   strife  make  fire,    though  Envy    eat  her 
heart. 
The  innocent  though  Slander  rente  and  spoile, 
Yet  time  will  «ome  and  take  the  Ladies  part, 
And  break  her  bands,  and  bring  her  foes  to 
foile. 
Despaire  not  then,  though  Truth  be  hidden  ofte, 
Because  at  length  she  shall  be  set  alofte. 

Envy,  who  is  in  close  alliance  with  her 
sisters  Malice  and  Slander,  is  of  hateful 


CHEISTIAN     SIMILITUDES. 


17 


origin  and  aspect.  She  furnishes  poison 
and  other  ingredients  and  implements 
with  which  to  destroy  the  reputation 
and  life  of  those  about  her.  She  will,  if 
possible,  disfigure  Truth,  or  so  shut  her 
up  in  some  cavern  or  dungeon  that  she 
can  not  appear.  With  her  foul  paint- 
Wush  she  will  endeavor  to  cover  her  in 
such  disagreeable  colors  as  to  render  her 
an  object  of  aversion.  By  disfiguring  or 
suppressing  Truth,  Strife  with  her  fiery 
torch  is  ai'oused,  and  Avhen  she  stalks 
abroad  "there  is  confusion  and  every 
evil  work,"  yet  let  no  one  despair,  for 

"Truth  crushed  to  earth  shall  rise  again, 
The  Eternal  years  of  God  are  hers. 

Time  the  conqueror  is  coming  forward,* 
he  will  break  every  barrier  and  remove 
every  obstruction,  and  bring  his  daughter 
forth  to  the  light  of  day,  when  her  ene- 
mies Avill  shrink  back  abashed  from  her 
presence.     Truth  is 

"The  good  man's  boast,  and  Fraud's  eternal  foe, 
The  best  of  gifts  Heaven  can  on  man  bestow ; 
Where  she  is  found,  bright  virtue  still  resides, 
And  equal  justice  every  action  guides  ; 
In  the  pure  heart  and  spotless  mind  she  reigns, 
And  with  mild  power  her  happy  sway  main- 
tains. 
The  attribute  of  God  himself  confest, 
That  stamps  his  image  on  the  human  breast." 

"The  first  creature  of  God,  in  the 
works  of  the  days,  was  the  light  of  the 
sense ;  the  last  was  the  light  of  reason ; 
and  his  Sabbath  work  ever  since  is  the 
ilhimination  of  his  spirit.  First  he 
breathed  light  upon  the  face  of  matter 
or  chaos;  then  he  breathed  light  into  the 
face  of  man,  and  still  he  brealheth  and 
inspireth  light  into  the  face  of  his  chosen. 
Lucretius,  who  beautified  the  sect  that 
was  otherwise  inferior  to  the  rest,  saith 
yet  excellently  well,  'It  is  a  pleasure  to 
stand  upon  the  shore  and  see  ships  tossed 
upon  the  sea;  a  pleasure  to  stand  in  the 
window  of  a  castle  and  see  a  battle,  and 
the  advantages  thereof  below;  but  no 
pleasure  is  comparable  to  the  standing 
upon  the  vantage  ground  of  Truth,  (a 


hill  not  to  be  commanded,  and  whore  the 
air  is  always  clear  and  serene,)  and  to  see 
the  errors  and  wanderings,  and  mists 
and  tempests  in  the  vale  below;'  so  al- 
ways this  prospect  be  with  pity,  and 
not  with  swelling  and  pride.  Certainly 
it  is  heaven  upon  earth  to  have  a  man's 
mind  move  in  charity,  rest  in  Providence,, 
and  turn  upon  the  poles  of  truth." 

When  Christianity  was  first  intro- 
duced among  men,  it  received  violent 
opposition  from  almost  every  class.  Its 
divine  founder  was  arraigned  before  a 
human  tribunal  as  a  disturber  of  the 
public  peace,  and  condemned  and  exe- 
cuted as  a  malefactor.  The  apostles  and 
evangelists  of  his  holy  religion  were 
treated  as  imposters,  considered  as  the 
filth  and  off'-scouring  of  the  world,  and 
most  of  them  suffered  a  bloody  death. 
But  truth,  like  oil  upon  troubled  waters, 
came  uppermost  at  last.  Paganism  re- 
tired abashed  and  confounded;  Christi- 
anity prevailed,  and  was  established 
throughout  the  Roman  Empire,  extend- 
ing at  last  to  the  throne  of  the  Csesars. 

Truth,  on  almost  every  subject,  when 
first  proposed  or  set  forth,  has  generally 
met  with  decided  opposition,  and  various 
attempts  have  been  made  to  suppress  or 
cover  it  uj)  from  observation.  Galileo^ 
the  Italian  philosopher,  so  celebrated  for 
his  astronomical  discoveries,  was  born  in 
Pisa,  in  Italy,  in  15G4.  Having  constructed 
a  telescope,  he  made  such  discoveries  in 
the  science  of  astronomy,  that  it  con- 
vinced him  of  the  truth  of  the  Coper- 
nican  system.  At  that  period  a  belief 
of  this  theory  was  considered  as  hereti- 
cal, and  contrary  to  the  word  of  God. 
Formal  complaint  having  been  made  to 
the  Inquisition,  he  was  summoned  before 
that  body,  at  Pome,  in  1615.  He  was  ac- 
cused of  maintaining  that  the  earth 
moved  around  the  sun,  while  the  latter 
remained  stationary.  The  Inquisition 
decreed  that  Galileo  should  renounce 
these  doctrines,  and  neither  teach  nor 
publish  them,  and  if  he  refused  acquies- 
cence, he  should  be  imprisoned.     They 


18 


CHRISTIAN    SIMILITUDES. 


also  issued  Ji  decree  deelariiiu;  these  new 
opinii)ns  contraiy  to  the  Bibk\  and  pro- 
hibited the  sak^  of  every  book  in  Avhich 
they  should  be  taui^ht. 

In  l()o2,  (lalileo,  in  an  indirect  man- 
ner, caused  his  j^reat  -work  on  astronom- 
ical subjects  to  be  ])ublished  at  Florence. 
He  -was,  in  the  VOth  year  of  his  age, 
aijain  sun\inoned  before  the  Lupiisition, 
•\vlio  ordered  that  he  should  be  iniju-is- 
oned  for  three  years,  recite  once  in  the 
week  the  seven  ])enitential  psalms,  and 
that  he  should,  in  the  most  solemn  man- 
ner, abjure  the  Copernican  system,  and 
bind  himself  by  oath  never  to  maintain 
or  sup])ort  it  either  in  his  conversation 
or  writings. 

We  have  a  remarkable  instance  of 
Time  bringing  up  truth  from  contiement 
in  the  history  of  Oliver  Cromwell,  the 
Lord  Protector  of  England,  who,  per- 
haps, was  more  slandered  than  any  other 
person  who  exercised  sovereign  power. 
For  a  long  period  he  was  denounced  as 
an  usurper  and  tyrant,  a  fanatic  and 
hypocrite.  Even  at  the  college  where 
he  was  educated  is  a  record  which  states 
that  "i/e  was  a  great  imposter,  a  7nost 
abandoned  villain,  who  having  by  horrid 
murder  cut  off  King  Charles  /,  of  blessed 


inemory,  usurped  the  throne  itself,  and,  under 
the  name  of  Proteetor,for  nearlj/  jive  years 
plagued  the  three  kingdoms  }cith  outrageous 
tyranny."  He  died  in  ll)58,  and  on  the 
restoration  of  monarchy,  his  body  was 
taken  up  and  hung  upon  the  gallows. 
After  a  lajise  of  two  eenturies  of  slander, 
the  truth  is  beginning  to  appear.  Dis- 
tinguished anil  able  writei-s  are  now  vin- 
dicating the  fame  of  perhaps  the  most 
invincible  general,  the  most  consummate 
statesman,  the  wisest,  the  most  religious 
and  virtuous  ruler  ever  phxced  at  the 
head  of  his  coimtrymen. 

Many  distinguished  persons  whose 
meniory  is  now  revered,  were,  during 
their  lives,  charged  with  crimes  of  which 
they  were  never  guilty.  Men  who  have 
bohlly  stood  ibrth  for  the  cause  of  (»od 
and  humanity,  have  been  accused  of  evil 
motives;  have  been  a  target  at  Avhich 
the  vile  shot  their  arroAvs,  assailed  by 
keen  abuse  and  malignant  ridicule. 

Wait  patiently,  then,  ye  who  are  suf- 
fering from  Slander,  Envy,  and  Strife. 
Time  will  yet  vindicate  his  daughter 
Truth;  she  will  bo  brought  from  the 
thick  darkness  m  which  she  has  been  so 
long  confined,  lovely  in  simplicity  and 
majestic  in  power! 


CIIEISTIAN     SIMILITUPES. 


19 


PROVERBS, 

Chap,  xiv: 

verse  14. 


1   SAMUEL, 

Chap,  xii: 

verse  3. 


DANIEL, 
Chap,  vi: 
verso  22. 


1    TIIESSAL'NS, 
Chap,  xi : 
verse  10. 


2  TIMOTnY, 

Chap,  iv: 
verso  7. 


JOB, 

Chap,  xxlx: 
verses  13-17. 


2  KINGS, 

Chap.  XX : 

verso  3. 


PSALM 

xxvi: 
verse  1. 


THE  MEMORY  OF  RIGHTEOUSNESS. 

Great  peace  have  thctj  that  lore  tlnj  lam.     Ps.  cxix:  165. And 

the  work  of  rl<ihteousncss  shall  be  peace  ;  and  the  effect  of  righteous- 
ness, quietness,  and  assurance  forever,     Isa.  xxxii:  17. 


Back  to  the  past,  the  good  man  turns  liis  eyes, 
And  Memory's  pictures  to  liis  vision  rise. 
The  briglit^eyed  boy,  who  lifts  his  heart  in  prayer, 
Asking,  in  youth,  a  lioavonly  Fatlicr's  care. 
Then  to  tlie  lioiise  of  (tod  he  turns  liis  way, 
Shunning  the  palli  where  thousands  go  astray. 
Then  learning  still  of  older  lips  the  truth, 


Himself  perhaps  the  guide  of  tender  3'otith ; 
Then  later  still  with  willing  hand  and  heart, 
The  gift  of  heaven  to  others  he  imparts, 
Clothing  the  needy  orphan  in  distress, 
Blessing  the  widow  and  the  fatherless,     [bright, 
Oh  I  'mid  such    scenes  as    these,   the  past  grows 
Pictures  of  memory  clothed  in  living  light. 


The  cnsjfravinfT  is  a  representation  of  a 
true  Christian  ov  ri<^hteons  man,  roview- 
in<i^  some  of  tl»e  prominent  transaetions 
of  his  ])ast  life.  These  appear  in  a 
vision-liivo  form  in  the  haek-ijround. 
The  first  scene  represents  him  in  tlio 
morning  of  life,  in  the  attitude  of  prayer, 


beinp^  one  of  the  first  things  tanglit  liim 
by  a  sainted  mother,  who,  perha])s,  has 
lono^  since  deptirted  fror.^  tliese  earthly 
scenes.  lie  next  apjiears  goinii;  to  the 
house  of  God,  in  company  with  others, 
to  engage  in  the  public  worship  of  God, 
and  to  receive  public  instruction.    Again. 


20 


CHEISTIAN    SIMILITUDES, 


he  is  shown  receiving  instruction  from 
those  older  than  himself;  or  if  he  be  a  par- 
ent, he  gives  instruction  to  his  children. 
Pointing  upward,  he  directs  them  to  re- 
member their  Creator  in  the  days  of 
their  youth.  Later  in  life  he  appears 
relieving  the  fatherless  and  the  widow, 
the  hungry  and  naked,  the  sick  and  the 
distressed. 

Memory  is  that  faculty  of  the  mind  by 
which  we  can  recall  past  scenes  or  events, 
and  the  particular  part  which  we  took 
in  them,  and  according  to  the  spirit 
which  we  then  manifested,  we  feel  pres- 
ent jileasure  or  pain.  Conscience  is  a 
power,  implanted  by  God  in  the  soul  of 
man,  for  perceiving  what  is  right  or 
wrong  in  his  heart  or  life,  in  his  temper, 
thoughts,  words,  and  actions.  This  fac- 
ulty is  given  even  to  the  heathen,  who 
have  never  had  (outwardly)  the  law,  but 
are  a  law  unto  themselves:  who  show 
the  work  of  the  law  written  in  their 
heart,  (by  the  finger  of  God,)  their  con- 
science also  bearing  witness,  and  their 
tlioughts  the  meanwhile  accusing  or  ex- 
cusing one  another. 

The  memory  of  St.  Paul,  as  far  as  it 
regarded  himself,  after  his  conversion  to 
Christianity^,  was  a  ^^rnemory  of  righteous- 
ness." This  gave  him  peace,  joy,  and 
present  satisfaction,  though  in  the  midst 
of  severe  trials  and  afflictions.  The 
Apostle,  near  the  close  of  his  eventful 
life,  declares  that  he  had  "fought  a  good 
fight,"  and  that  he  had  "kept  the  faith." 
All  of  which  we  are  bound  to  believe 
was  strictly  true;  and  whatever  his  fel- 
low-laborers might  have  done,  or  what- 
ever blame  might  have  been  attached  to 
the7n,  the  Apostle  of  the  Gentiles  appears, 
after  his  conversion,  to  have  performed 
every  thing  that  was  required  of  him  as 
a  Christian. 

lie  who,  like  Timothy,  has  been 
brought  up  from  childhood  to  know  and 
obey  the  Sci'iptures,  has  many  things  to 
reflect  on  with  pleasure.  By  the  power 
of  memory  he  sees  how  his  infant  mind 
was  first  opened  to  receive  heavenly  in- 


struction from  pious  parents,  or  some 
other  kind  relatives;  how  he  obeyed  the 
command  of  God  to  seek  him  early,  and 
how  he  experienced  the  divine  promise 
of  being  found  of  him.  He  reflects  with 
pleasure  how  early  he  was  taught  to  love 
so  good  a  Being,  and  from  how  many 
childish  sins  and  follies  he  was  preserved 
by  keeping  his  commandments.  All 
these,  and  many  more  mercies  experi- 
enced in  youth,  called  up  by  memory, 
brings  him  present  happiness. 

They  who  have,  according  to  their 
ability,  given  good  advice  to  those 
younger  than  themselves,  and  have  en- 
deavored to  lead  them  into  the  paths  of 
virtue,  will,  in  after  life,  when  memory 
recalls  these  efl^orts,  find  much  satisfac- 
tion. Possibly  they  may  see  that  thus 
they  have  saved  a  human  being  from 
ruin.  Many,  perhaps,  by  their  kind 
wox'ds  and  actions,  have  been  sustained 
and  encouraged  in  times  of  trial  and  dif- 
ficulty. As  they  have  advanced  to  riper 
yeai"S,  they  have  brought  up  their  chil- 
dren  in  the  nurture  and  admonition  of 
the  Lord.  If  faithful  in  these  duties,  the 
memory  of  it  will  be  blessed. 

In  an  especial  manner,  he  who  has  ad- 
ministered to  wants  of  the  poor  and  needy, 
the  widow  and  fatherless,  will,  when 
memory  recalls  his  acts,  enjoy  an  eleva- 
ted pleasure;  he  has  the  divine  promise, 
"  Blessed  are  the  merciful,  for  they  shall 
obtain  mercy." 

The  righteous  man  visits  the  sick'and 
distressed,  and  endeavors  to  relieve  suf- 
fering wherever  found ;  he  does  not  stop 
to  inquire  of  what  nation,  or  religious 
creed  is  the  sufferer.  He  does  not  even 
ask  what  crimes  he  has  committed  be- 
fore he  will  relieve  him.  But  like  his 
heavenly  Father,  who  sends  his  rain  on 
the  just  and  on  the  unjust,  he  endeavoi-s 
to  do  good  unto  all  men.  What  a  noble 
subject,  too,  for  contemplation  is  he  who 
has  been  the  instrument  of  preserving  hu- 
man life,  and  bringing  comfort  and  peace 
into  the  habitations  of  the  wretched ! 
"When   the    Son    of  man    shall  come 


N,^ 


CHEISTIAN    SIMILITUDES. 


21 


in  his  glory,  and  before  him  shall  be 
gathered  all  nations,  then  will  he  say  to 
the  righteous  on  his  right  hand,  "Come 
ye  blessed  of  my  Father,"  for  when  I 
was  hungry,  ye  gave  me  meat;  thirsty, 
ye  gave  me  drink;  a  stranger,  ye  took 
me  in;  naked,  ye  clothed  me;  sick,  ye 
visited  me;  in  prison,  and  ye  came  unto 
me.  Our  Divine  Master  here  acknowl- 
edges that  whatever  is  done  by  the 
righteous  unto  the  meanest  of  his  follow- 
ers, he  will  regard  it  as  done  unto 
himself. 

The  earnest  Christian  has  that  true 
peace  and  calm  satisfaction  of  spirit 
which  ai'ises  from  the  testimony  of  his 
conscience,  that  in  simplicity  and  godly 
sincerity,  not  with  fleshly  wisdom,  but 
by  the  grace  of  God,  he  had  his  conver- 
sation in  the  woi-ld.  He  rejoices  that 
God  has  given  him  the  "mind  that  was 
in  Christ" — simplicity,  a  single  eye  to 
him  in  the  motions  of  his  heart:  to  aim 
to  be  conformed  to  Christ  in  all  things. 

His  conscience  bears  witness,  when 
memory  recalls  the  past,  that  he  has,  in 
some  good  degree,  "  walked  worthy  of 
the  vocation  wherewith  he  is  called;' 
that  he  has  abstained  from  all  appear- 
ance of  evil,  and,  as  ftir  as  he  had  the  oj)- 
portunity,  he  has  done  good  unto  all  men. 

The  memory  of  righteousness  brings 
joy  to  the  soul  even  when  in  affliction. 
Whatever  trials  we  may  experience,  the 
loss  of  health,  poverty,  the  death  or  es- 
trangement of  friends,  the  slander  of 
others,  the  triumph  of  enemies,  and  even 
greater  trials,  yet,  if  we  have  the  testi- 
mony of  a  good  conscience,  we  can  "  re- 
joice that  our  names  are  written  in 
heaven." 

Many  of  the  righteous  have  never  ex- 
perienced any  joy  to  be  compared  with 
that  which  then  filled  their  soul  when 
the  body  was  well-nigh  worn  out  with 
pain  or  pining  sickness.  And  never, 
surely,  did  human  beings  rejoice  like 
those  who  were  used  "as  the  filth  and 
offscouring  of  the  world,"  who  wandered 
to  and  fro,  being  in  want  of  all  things ; 


in  hunger,  in  cold,  in  nakedness  ;  who 
had  trials,  not  only  of  "cruel  mockings," 
but  "moreover  of  bonds  and  im^jrison- 
ments;"  yea,  who,  at  last,  "counted  not 
their  lives  dear  unto  themselves,  so  that 
they  might  finish  their  course  with  joy." 
To  those  who  live  somewhat  out  of 
the  noise  and  bustle  of  the  world,  the 
joys  and  pains  of  memory  bear  with  pe- 
culiar force  upon  the  mind.  If  a  person 
acted  upon  no  higher  principle  than  self- 
interest,  it  would  be  wisdom  in  him  to 
live  in  such  a  manner  as  not  to  be  har- 
rassed  by  the  memory  of  the  past.  A 
modern  poet  thus  describes  the  "Pleas- 
ures of  Memory:" 

"From  thee,  sweet  Hope,  her  airy  coloring  draws, 
And  fancy's  flights  are  subject  to  thy  laws; 
From  thee  that  bosom  spring  of  rapture  flows, 
Which  only  virtue,  tranquil  virtue  knows. 

«  *  «  » 

A  little  world  of  clear  and  cloudless  day, 
Nor  wrecked  by    storms,    nor    moldered  by 

decay; 
A  world,    with  memory's   ceaseless    sunshine 

blest, 
The  home  of  happiness,  an  honest  breast. 

»  «  *  * 

Hail  Memory,  hail  I  in  thy  exhaustless  mine, 
From  age  to  age  unnumbered  treasures  shine! 
Thought,  and  her  shadowy  brood,  thy  call  obey. 
And  place  and  time  are  subject  to  thy  sway! 
Thy  pleasures  most  we  feel  when  most  alone; 
The  only  pleasures  we  can  call  her  own. 
Lighter  than  air,  Hope's  summer  visions  die, 
If  but  a  fleeting  cloud  obscure  the  sky. 
If  but  a  beam  of  sober  reason  play, 
So  Fancy's  fairy  frost-work  melts  away! 
But  can  the  wiles  of  art,  the  grasp  of  power, 
Snatch  the  rich  relics  of  a  well-spent  hour  ? 
These,  when   the    trembling  spirit  wings  her 

flight, 
Pour  round  her  path  a  stream  of  living  light  • 
And  gild  those  pure  and  perfect  realms  of  rest, 
Where  virtue  triumphs,  and  her  sons  are  blest ! "' 


Quick  as  their  thoughts  their  joys  come  on, 

But  fly  not  half  so  swift  away ; 
Their  souls  are  ever  bright  as  noon. 

And  calm  as  summer  evenings  be. 
The  day  glides  swiftly  o'er  their  heads, 

Made  up  of  innocence  and  love  ; 
And  soft  and  silent  as  the  shades, 

Their  mighty  minutes  move. 


22 


CHEISTIAN     SIMILITUDES. 


2  KINGS, 
Chap,  ix : 
verse  31. 


ISAIAH, 

Chap.  Ivii : 
verse  20. 


PEOVEEBS, 
Chap,  x: 
verse  24. 


PSALM 

li: 
verse  3. 


PEOYEEBS, 

Chap,  xxviii: 
verse  1. 


JOB, 

Chap.  XX : 

verses  5-20. 


MATTHEW, 

Chap,  xxvii: 
verses  3,  4,  5. 


EZEKIEL, 

Chap,  xxi: 

verse  24. 


THE  MEMORY  OF  WICKEDNESS. 

There  is  no  peace  saith  my  God  to  the  wicked.     Isa.  LVii:  21. 

Tribulation  and  anguish  upon  every  soul  of  man  that  doeth  evil. 
Bom.  II :  9 , 


Dark  is  the  scene  which  meets  the  troubled  gaze 
Of  the  old  man  who  squander'd  life's  best  days. 
He  sees  the  pictures  of  the  hours  misspent, 
With  disobedience,  sin  and  folly  blent. 
A  mother's  warning  voice  he  despised  in  youth; 
And  trampled  'neath  his  feet  God's  word  of  truth. 


God's  house  neglected,  engaged  in  angry  fights, 
■\Vasted  his  days,  and  made  riotous  his  nights; 
Then  later  still,  the  suffering  and  the  poor 
Turned  with  revilings  from  his  door. 
jVIemories  like  these  makes  his  old  age  drear, 
Alas !  no  hope  beyond,  his  guilty  soul  to  cheer 


The  engraving  annexed  represents  a 
wicked  or  unrighteous  man  who,  unwill- 
ingly, has  the  remembrance  of  his  crimes 
brought  before  his  mind.  He  is  evi- 
dently ill  at  ease,  which  shows  itself  by 
his  troubled  cotmtenance.  Some  of  his 
wayward  and   unrighteous  acts  appear 


vision-like  in  the  back-ground.  The  first 
scene  in  order  represents  him  turning 
his  back  on  the  instructions  of  his 
mother.  Eather  than  learn  his  duty,  he 
casts  the  lessons  of  wisdom  aside,  and,  as 
it  were,  tramples  them  under  his  feet,  and 
commences  a  truant  life.     The  next  scene 


christia:n-  similitudes. 


2:5 


represents  him  engaged  in  quarreling 
with  one  of  his  companions,  as  the 
■wicked  heart  is  full  of  hatred  and  strife. 
He  is  again  seen  driving  the  poor  and 
need}^  from  his  presence,  although  abun- 
dantly able  to  supi^ly  their  wants.  He 
is  also  shown  using  violence  and  cruelty 
toward  his  fellow-man,  and  perhaps,  in 
addition  to  other  crimes  and  misdemean- 
ors, has  betrayed  female  innocence  by 
his  false  promises,  regardless  of  the 
misery  which  was  to  ensue. 

Man  was  originally  formed  in  the 
image  of  his  Maker,  that  Being  whose 
nature  is  love.  Though  now  in  a  fallen 
and  depraved  state,  some  traces  of  his 
original  constitution  still  remain.  By 
the  Divine  Constitution  misery  follows 
the  commission  of  sin  and  transgression. 
However  depraved  man  may  become,  or 
to  what  extent  he  may  cast  off  the  fear 
of  God,  yet  if  he  commits  wrongs  against 
his  fellow-men,  so  he  feels,  to  a  greater 
or  less  extent,  miserable  and  unhappy. 
He  has  violated  the  great  law  of  love. 
He  may  disbelieve  in  the  existence  of 
any  God  to  take  notice  of  the  affairs  of 
men,  either  to  reward  or  punish  human 
action,  yet  he  can  not  escape  misery. 
He  may  attempt  to  di*own  his  thoughts 
in  various  ways,  but  in  vain,  for  memory, 
in  spite  of  all  his  exertions  to  prevent  it, 
will  present  his  crimes  in  dismal  array 
before  him. 

Even  among  heathens  who  never  had 
a  written  revelation,  we  find  the  same 
law  in  existence  as  among  enlightened 
nations.  Every-where,  among  all  nations 
and  tribes,  high  and  low,  the  learned 
and  the  ignorant,  bond  and  free,  the 
consciences  of  men  approve  of  acts  of 
beneficence  and  love,  and  detest  those  of 
oppression  and  wrong.  Many  accounts 
have  reached  us  in  history,  where  the 
wrong-doer  has  suffered  misery  and  an- 
guish on  account  of  his  transgressions. 
Although  amenable  to  no  hmnan  tribu- 
nal, yet  conscience,  reminded  by  the 
memory  of  past  wickedness,  has  lashed 
them  for  their  crimes. 


The  celebrated  Col.  Gardner,  when  a 
young  man,  led  what  is  falsely  called 
a  "  life  of  pleasure."  He  appears  to  have 
cast  off  fear  and  restraint,  and  indiilged 
himself  in  all  the  fashionable  vices  and 
follies  of  the  times.  Such  then  was  his 
ap2:)earance  of  cheerfulness  and  buoyancy 
of  spirit,  that  he  received  the  appellation 
of  "the  Happy  Eake."  After  his  re- 
markable conversion  to  the  Christian 
faith,  ho  stated  to  his  friends,  that  often 
when  those  about  him  were  ready  to 
envy  him  for  his  apparent  happiness,  ho 
was  in  the  most  wretched  and  unhappy 
state  of  mind.  Such  was  the  memor}' 
of  his  immoralities,  he  says,  that  on  one 
particular  occasion,  when  in  the  full  tide 
of  his  career,  a  dog  coming  into  the 
room  where  he  was,  he  actually  wished, 
and  iuAvardly  exclaimed  "  I  wish  that  1 
was  that  dog." 

"One  of  the  most  sensible  men  I  ever 
knew  (says  one),  but  whose  life  as  well 
as  creed  had  been  rather  eccentric,  re- 
tuimed  me  the  following  answer  not 
many  months  before  his  death,  when  I 
asked  him  whether  his  former  irregulari- 
ties were  not  accompanied  at  the  time 
and  succeeded  afterward  by  some  sense 
of  mental  pain?  'Yes,'  said  he.  'but  1 
have  scarce  OAvned  it  till  now.  We 
(meaning  we  infidels  and  men  of  fashion- 
able morals)  do  not  tell  you  all  that 
passes  in  our  hearts.' " 

Such  has  been  the  power  of  the  mem- 
ory of  wickedness  committed,  that  it 
has  rendered  life  insupportable,  and 
many  have  laid  violent  hands  on  them- 
selves and  rushed  unbidden  into  the 
presence  of  their  Maker.  Others,  when 
human  testimony  has  failed  to  convict, 
them  of  the  murders  they  have  commit- 
ted, have  themselves  voluntarily  con- 
fessed their  crime  and  suffered  its  penalty. 
During  the  last  century,  a  jeweler  of 
considerable  wealth,  while  traveling  at^ 
some  distance  from  his  abode,  was  mur. 
dered  by  his  servant,  who.  after  riflino;: 
his  master  of  his  money  and  jewels,  con- 
cealed his  body  in  a  stream  of  water. 


24 


CHEISTIAN     SIMILITUDES. 


He  then  departed  to  a  distant  part  of 
the  country,  where  he  had  reason  to  be- 
lieve that  neither  himself  or  master  were 
known.  There  he  began  to  trade  in  a 
small  way  at  first,  to  escape  observation, 
and  in  the  course  of  many  years  seemed 
to  rise  up  by  the  natural  progress  of 
business  to  wealth  and  consideration. 
He  finally  became  the  chief  magistrate 
and  judge  in  the  town  where  he  lived.' 
While  acting  as  judge,  a  prisoner  was 
brought  before  him,  charged  with  the 
murder  of  his  master.  The  evidence 
was  such,  that  the  jury  gave  the  verdict 
that  the  prisoner  was  guilty,  and  the 
whole  assembl}^  awaited  the  sentence  of 
the  judge.  To  their  astonishment,  they 
saw  him  come  down  from  the  bench  and 
place  himself  by  the  side  of  the  prisoner, 
and  thus  address  his  fellow-judges :  "  You 
see  before  you  a  striking  instance  of  the 
awards  of  Heaven,  which  tliis  day,  after 
thirty  years  concealment,  presents  to  you 
a  greater  criminal  than  the  man  just  now 
found  guilty."  Ho  then  made  an  ample 
confession  of  his  crime,  with  all  its  ag- 
gravations. "Nor  can  I,"  continued  he, 
"feel  any  I'elief  from  the  agonies  of  an 
awakened  conscience,  but  by  requiring 
that  justice  be  forthwith  done  against  me 
in  the  most  public  and  solemn  manner." 
The  amazed  judges  accordingly  pro- 
ceeded upon  his  confession  to  pass  sen- 
tence upon  him,  and  he  died,  it  is  hoped, 
a  true  penitent. 

The  memory  of  wickedness  will  often 
force  itself  upon  the  mind  in  an  unex- 
pected manner.  In  one  of  our  oldest 
States,  a  man  of  pious  parentage,  being 
an  adept  in  political  movements,  rose  to 
offices  of  distinction.  During  the  earlier 
part  of  his  career,  he  was  of  licentious 
habits.  Though  of  skeptical  or  infidel 
opinions,  yet  the  remembrance  of  the 
wrongs  he  had  committed,  the  female 
innocence  he  had  destroyed,  caused  him 
many  pangs  of  remorse.  Some  common 
occurrence  would  bring  to  his  memory  his 


former  transgressions.  On  one  occasion 
it  is  related  of  him,  that  when  journey- 
ing on  horseback,  he  dismounted  and 
rolled  on  the  earth  in  keen  anguish  of 
mind. 

Of  all  the  distresses  of  mind  that 
human  beings  can  feel,  perhaps  none  are 
equal  to  those  of  a  guilty  conscience.  It 
embitters  every  comfort,  dashes  every 
pleasure  with  sorrow,  fills  the  mind  with 
despair,  and  jiroduces  wretchedness  in 
the  greatest  degree.  "To  live  under 
such  disquietude,"  says  a  celebrated 
writer,  "is  already  to  undergo  one  of 
the  most  severe  punishments  that  human 
nature  can  suffer."  Dr.  Young,  who  at- 
tended the  last  moments  of  Altamont,  a 
licentious  young  nobleman  of  infidel 
principles,  gives  a  harrowing  description 
of  the  scene.  Addressing  himself  to  one 
of  his  infidel  companions,  he  said: 

"How  madly  thou  hast  listened  and 
believed  !  but  look  on  my  present  state 
as  a  full  answer  to  thee  and  myself. 
This  body  is  all  weakness  and  pain;  but 
my  soul,  as  if  strung  up  by  torment  to 
greater  strength  and  spirit,  is  full  poAver- 
ful  to  reason,  full  mighty  to  suffer.  Ana 
that  Avhich  thus  triumphs  with'in  the  jaws 
of  immortality,  is  doubtless  immortal. 
And  as  for  a  Deit}^  nothing  less  than  an 
Almighty  could  inflict  Avhat  I  feel.  *  * 
Eemorse  for  the  past  throws  my  thought 
on  the  future.  Worse  dread  of  the  future 
strikes  it  back  on  the  past;  I  turn  and 
turn  and  find  no  ray.  Didst  thou  feel 
half  the  mountain  that  is  on  me,  thou 
wouldst  struggle  with  the  martyr  for  his 
stake,  and  bless  Heaven  for  its  flames! 
That  is  not  an  everlasting  flame  ;  that  is 
not  an  unquenchable  fire!  :!<  *  * 
My  principles  have  poisoned  my  friend, 
my  extravagance  has  beggared  m}'  boy, 
and  my  unkindness  has  murdered  my 
wife!  And  is  there  another  hell?  Oh 
thou  blasphemed  yet  indulgent  Lord 
God  !  hell  itself  is  a  refuge,  if  it  hide 
mo  from  thy  frown ! " 


CHEISTIAN     SIMILITUDES, 


25 


PETJTEE'OMT, 

Chap,  xxxii: 

verse  17. 


2  CHRONICLES, 
Chap,  xi : 
verse  15. 


PSALM 

cvi: 
verse  37. 

1  CORINTH'NS 
Chap,  x: 
verse  20. 


EOMANS, 
Chap,  i : 
verse  21. 


2  KINGS, 

Chap,  xvi: 

verse  3. 


PSALM 

ix: 
verse  15. 


EXODUS, 

Chap,  xxxii; 

verse  4. 


HEATHENISM. 

The  dark  places  of  the  earth  are  full  of  the  habitations  of  cruelty. 

Ps.  Lxxiv:   20. They  changed   the  glory  of  the  incorruptible 

God  into  an  image  made  like  corruptible  man  .  .  .  birds,  .  .  .four- 
footed  beasts  and  creeping  things.     Rom.  i :  23. 


Behold  the  sacrifice  of  human  blood, 

Spilt  as  an  offering  to  some  heathen  god. 

The  creeping  things  that  move  on  distant  shores, 

Are  the  varied  forms  that  ignorance  adores. 

The  mother  standing  where  the  Ganges  flows. 


Amid  the  waves  her  helpless  infant  throws; 
See  Egypt's  golden  calf,  the  Persian  fire, 
The  ancients  worshiped  on  their  sacred  pyre  ; 
While  modern  tribes  before  their  various  idols  fall, 
And  worship  what  they  know  not,  blind  in  all. 


The  engraving  shows  heathenism  in  a 
variety  of  forms.  One  of  the  most  prom- 
inent is  a  priest  sacrificing  a  human  vic- 
tim to  appease  or  gain  the  favor  of  some 
imaginary  deit}',  who  deliglits  in  the 
shedding  of  human  blood.  In  front  ai-e 
tlie  crocodile,  the  ibex,  and  some  ci'eep- 
fng  things,  all  of  which  have  been  wor- 
shiped as  deities  by  nations  of  an- 
tiquity. In  the  back-ground  the  Hin- 
doo mother  is  casting  her  infant  into  the 
river,   the   sacred   Ganges;    the   golden 


calf  of  Egypt  and  the  Persian  fire,  both 
objects  of  worship,  also  appear.  In  one 
section  the  gods  of  ancient  Greece  and 
Rome  are  represented,  before  which  wor- 
shipers are  prostrated. 

In  remote  antiquity  we  find  that 
heathen  nations  lived  in  fear  of  some 
great  malignant  spirit  or  spirits,  who 
ruled  over  the  countries  where  they 
dwelt.  To  obtain  the  ftivor  of  these  in- 
fernal deities,  they  often  sacrificed  what 
they  esteemed  the  most  valuable,  and  on 


26 


CHRISTIAX    SIMILITUDES, 


great  occasions  human  victims  were  of- 
fered. On  one  of  these  we  are  informed 
that  Xerxes,  the  Pei-sian,  buried  alive 
nine  young  men  and  nine  young  women, 
belonging  to  the  country  he  was  travers- 
ing, to  obtain  the  favor  of  the  gods.  In 
this  he  followed  the  example  of  his  wife, 
for  she  commanded  fourteen  Persian 
children  of  illustrous  birth  to  be  offered 
in  that  manner  to  the  deity  who  reigns 
beneath  the  earth. 

When  JEnoan  was  to  perform  the  last 
kind  office  for  his  friend  Pallas,  he  sacri- 
ficed (besides  numerous  oxen,  sheep,  and 
swine)  eight  caj^tives  to  the  infernal 
gods.  Achilles,  also,  caused  twelve  Tro- 
jans of  high  birth  to  bleed  by  the  sacer- 
dotal knife,  over  the  ashes  of  his  friend 
Patroclus. 

"A  hundred  feet  in  length,  a  hundred  wide. 
The  glowing  structure  spreads  on  every  side  ; 
High  on  the  top  the  manly  corse  they  lay, 
And  well-led  sheep  and  stable  oxen  slay ; 
*  -;•.-  *  » 

The  last  of  all,  and  horrible  to  tell. 
Sad  sacrifice!  twelve  Trojan  captives  fell; 
On  these  the  rage  of  fire  victorious  preys, 
Involves,  and  joins  them  in  one  common  blaze. 
Smeared  with  bloody  rights,  he  stands  on  high, 
And  calls  the  spirit  with  a  cheerful  cry. 
All  hail  Patroclus!  let  thy  vengeful  ghost 
Hear,  and  exult  on  Pluto's  dreary  coast. 

Pope's  Homer  II. 

The  practice  of  shedding  human  blood 
before  the  altars  of  their  gods  was  not 
peculiar  to  the  Trojans  and  the  Greeks. 
The  Romans,  in  the  first  ages  of  their 
republic,  sacrificed  children  to  the  god- 
dess Mania.  In  later  periods,  numerous 
gladiators  bled  at  the  tombs  of  the  pa- 
tricians or  nobles,  to  appease  the  manes 
or  ghosts  of  the  deceased.  And  it  is 
particularly  noticed,  that  after  the  taking 
of  Perusia,  there  were  sacrificed  on  the 
ides  of  March,  three  hundred  senators 
and  knights  to  the  divinity  of  Julius 
Cajsar. 

The  Carthagenians  defeated  by  Agath- 
ocles,  tyrant  of  Sicily,  attributed  their 
disgrace  to  the  anger  of  their  god,  and 


offered  two  hundred  children,  taken  from 
the  most  distinguished  families  in  Car- 
thage. The  mode  of  sacrificing  these 
children  was  horrid  in  the  extreme ;  for 
they  were  cast  into  the  arms  of  a  brazen 
statue,  and  from  thence  dropped  into  a 
furnace.  It  was  probably  in  this  man- 
ner the  Ammonites  offered  up  their 
children  to  Moloch.  The  Pelasgi  at  one 
time  sacrificed  a  tenth  part  of  all  their 
children  in  obedience  to  an  oracle. 

The  Egyj:)tians  in  Heliopolis  daily 
sacrificed  three  men  to  Juno.  The  Spar- 
tans and  Arcadians  scourged  to  death 
young  women — the  latter  to  appease  the 
wrath  of  Bacchus,  the  former  to  gratify 
Diana.  The  Gauls,  equally  cruel  in  their 
worship,  sacrificed  men  to  their  ancient 
deities,  and  at  a  later  period  to  Jupiter, 
Mercury,  Mars,  Minerva,  etc.  Cresar  in- 
forms us  that  whenever  they  thought 
themselves  in  danger,  whether  from  sick- 
ness or  any  considerable  defeat  in  war, 
being  persuaded  that  unless  life  be  given 
for  life  the  anger  of  the  gods  could  never 
be  appeased,  they  constructed  wicker 
images  of  enormous  bulk,  which  they 
filled  with  men,  who  were  first  suffocated 
with  smoke,  and  then  consumed  with 
fire. 

In  Sweden  the  altars  of  Woden  smoked 
incessantly  with  blood.  This  flowed 
most  abundantly  at  their  solemn  festivals 
every  ninth  year  at  Ujisal.  When  the 
king,  attended  by  the  senate  and  his 
courtiers,  entered  the  temple,  which  glit- 
tered with  gold,  and  conducted  to  the 
altar  nine  slaves,  or  in  time  of  war,  nine 
captives.  These  first  received  the  ca- 
resses of  the  midtitude,  as  being  about 
to  avert  from  them  the  displeasure  of 
their  gods.  In  times  of  distress  more 
noble  victims  bled,  and  it  stands  upon 
record  (says  Dr.  Clarke)  that  when 
Aune,  their  king,  was  ill,  he  offered  up  to 
Woden  his  nine  sons  to  prolong  his  life. 

The  Danes  had  the  same  heathenish 
and  abominable  customs.  Hacon,  King 
of  Norway,  offered  his  own  son  to  obtain 
from  Woden  the  victory  over  Harrold, 


CHEISTIAN"     SIMILITUDES, 


27 


with  whom  he  was  at  war.  In  Eussia 
the  Sclavi  worshiped  many  gods.  Pe- 
roun,  their  thunderer,  was  supreme,  and 
before  his  image  many  of  their  prisoners 
bled.  Suetovid,  the  god  of  war,  was 
their  favorite,  and  they  annually  pre- 
sented as  a  burnt  offering  three  hundred 
prisoners,  each  on  his  horse,  and  when 
the  whole  was  consumed  by  fire,  the 
l^riests  and  people  sat  down  to  eat  and 
drink  until  they  were  drunk.  The  an- 
cient Peruvians,  on  this  western  con- 
tinent sacrificed  their  children  to  the 
sun.  In  more  modern  times,  thousands 
have  voluntarily  perished  in  India,  under 
the  wheels  of  their  god  Juggernaut. 

The  ancient  Egyptians,  though  consid- 
erably advanced  in  civilization,  debased 
themselves  by  their  heathenish  system 
of  religion.  Their  princijial  gods  were 
Osiris  and  Isis,  which  are  supposed  to  be 
the  sun  and  moon.  Beside  this  they 
worshiped  the  ox,  the  dog,  the  cat,  the 
crocodile,  the  ibis  or  stork,  and  even 
creeping  things.  The  bull  Apis  had  a 
splendid  temple  erected  to  him;  great 
honors  were  paid  to  him  when  living, 
and  still  greater  after  his  death.  The 
golden  calf  was  set  up  by  the  Israelites 
near  Mount  Sinai,  and  worshiped. 

One  of  the  most  prominent  forms  of 
heathenism  in  modern  times,  is  the  wor- 
ship of  the  idol  Juggernaut  in  India.  This 
huge  misshapen  image  is  kept  in  a  tem- 
ple, of  which  the  principal  part  rises  to 
an  elevation  of  two  hundred  feet.  Nu- 
merous festivals  are  held  in  honor  of  the 
idol,  the  most  important  of  which  are 
the  bathing  and  car  festivals.  For  a  long 
period,  pilgrims  have  assembled  in  vast 
numbers,  from  various  parts  of  India,  to 
attend  the  ceremonies.  Great  sufterings 
are  exj)erienced,  in  consequence  of  exces- 
sive fatigue,  among  those  who  come  from 
a  distance.  Many  die  from  exposure  and 
want  of  food.  The  plains  in  many 
places  are  whitened  with  the  bones  of 
the  pilgrims,  while  dogs  and  vultures 
ai'e  continually  devouring  the  dead. 

At  one  of  the  annual  festivals,  Jugger- 


naut and  two  other  images,  said  to  be  his 
brother  and  sister,  are  bi-ought  out  and 
set  upon  huge  cars.  Six  cables  are  at- 
tached to  the  car  of  Juggernaut,  three 
hundred  feet  in  length,  by  means  of 
which  the  people  draw  it  from  place  to 
place.  Devotees,  for  the  purpose  of  gain- 
ing in  a  future  life,  health,  riches  and 
honor,  cast  themselves  under  the  wheels 
of  the  car  to  be  crushed  to  death. 

"  Here  rolls  the  hated  car, 
Grinding   and  crashing   bones,  and  hearts  and 

brains 
Of  men  and  women.     Down  they  fling  themselves 
In  the  deep  gush,  and  wait  the  heavy  wheel, 
Slow  rolling  on  its  thunder-bellowing  axle, 
Sunk  in  the  wounded  earth.     The  sigh,  the  breath, 
The  blood,  and  life,  and  soul,  with  spurting  rush, 
Beneath  the  horrid  load  forsake  the  heap 
Of  pounded  flesh,  and  the  big  roar  continues 
As  though  no  soul  had  passed  the  bounds  of  time. 

*         *         *         *     the  mad,  living  throng, 
Trampling  by  thousands  o'er  the  dead  and  dying, 
And  shouting,  howling,  pulling,  hear  no  groan, 
Nor  feel  the  throes  of  beings  beneath  them." 

Upwards  of  a  week  is  sometimes  spent 
in  dragging  the  car  about  two  miles. 
Every  time  it  stops,  one  of  the  priests 
steps  forward  on  the  platform,  and  re- 
hearses the  deeds  and  extols  the  character 
of  the  idol  in  a  manner  the  most  obscene. 
Should  the  speaker  quote  from  the  vShas- 
ters,  (their  sacred  books,)  or  invent  an 
expression  more  than  usually  lascivious, 
the  multitude  give  a  shout  or  sensual 
yell.  The  abominations  practiced  on 
these  occasions,  both  in  language  and 
manner,  can  not  be  named  among  a 
Christian  people. 

From  time  immemorial  Hindoo  mothers 
have  thrown  their  infant  children  into 
the  Ganges,  to  be  devoured  by  alligators, 
to  propitiate  some  offended  deity.  For- 
merly thousands  of  widows  were  burnt 
on  the  funeral  pile  of  their  deceased  hus- 
bands. They  thus  escaped  the  disgrace 
of  being  widows,  and  became,  as  they  ♦ 
believed,  entitled  to  a  residence  with 
their  husbands  and  relatives  in  heaven. 
Such  is  the  religion  of  the  most  popu- 
lous  of  heathen    countries,   in   modern 


28 


CHEISTIAX     SIMILITUDES. 


times.  AYoman  is  debased  and  made  a 
slave  wherever  it  prevails.  It  teaches 
its  votaries  to  defile  themselves  with  the 
mud  of  the  streets;  to  measure  the  dis- 
tance from  their  houses  to  their  temples 
b}'  the  length  of  their  bodies,  prostrated 
every  foot  of  the  way;  to  swing  in  the 
air,  suspended  by  hooks  thrust  through 
the  muscles  of  the  back,  and  to  submit  to 
a  thousand  other  tortures,  in  honor  of 
some  cruel  but  imaginary  deity.  Of 
late  years  the  British  Government,  in 
the  parts  of  India  under  their  control, 
have  endeavored,  and  with  varied  suc- 
cess, to  put  a  stop  to  these  heathenish 
practices. 

At  the  time  of  the  Christian  era,  most 
of  the  world  was  sunk  in  heathenism 
and  idolatr}^,  the  character  of  the  mass 
being  thus  truly  described  by  the  Apos- 
tle Paul: 

Professing  themselves  to  be  wise,  they  be- 
came fools,  and  changed  the  glory  of  the  un- 
corruptible God  into  an  image  made  like  to 
corruptible  man,  and  to  birds,  and  four-footed 
beasts,  and  creeping  things.  Wherefore  God 
also  gave  them  up  to  uncleanllness,  through 
the  lust  of  their  own  hearts,  to  dishonor  their 
own  bodies  between  themselves:  who  changed 
the  truth  of  God  into  a  lie,  and  worshiped  and 
served  the  creature  more  than  the  Creator,  who 
is  blessed  for  ever.  For  this  cause  God  gave 
them  up  unto  vile  affections.  For  even  their 
women  did  change  the  natural  use  into  that 
which  is  against  nature:  and  likewise  also  the 
men,  leaving  the  natural  use  of  the  women, 
burned  in  their  lust  one  toward  another;  men 
with  men  working  that  which  is  unseemly,  and 
receiving  in  themselves  that  recompense  of 
tlieir  error  wbich  was  meet.  And  even  as  tliey 
dill  not  like  to  retain  God  in  their  knowledge, 
God  gave  them  over  to  a  reprobate  mind,  to 
do  those  things  which  are  not  convenient: 
being  filled  with  all  unrighteousness,  forni- 
cation, wickedness,  covetousness,  malicious- 
ness; full  of  ehvy,  murder,  debate,  deceit,  ma- 
lignity; whisperers,  backbiters,  haters  of  God, 
despiteful,  proud,  boasters,  inventors  of  evil 
things,  disobedient  to  parents,  without  under- 
etanding,  covenant  breakers,  without  natural 
affection,  implacable,  unmerciful:  who,  know- 
ing the  judgment  of  God,  that  they  which 
commit  such  things  are  worthy  of  death;  not 


only  do  the  same,  but  have  pleasure  in  them 
that  do  them. — Romans  i:  22 — 32. 

Moshiem,  one  of  the  most  reliable  of 
religious  historians,  speaking  of  the  na- 
tions in  the  Eoman  empire,  states:  "All 
these  were  plunged  in  the  grossest  super- 
stitions. *  ^  Some,  nations,  indeed 
Avent  beyond  others  in  imjncty  and  ab- 
surdity of  worship,  but  all  stood  charge- 
able with  i Irrationality  and  gross  stupid- 
ity in  matters  of  religion.  Each  nation 
had  a  class  of  deities  peculiar  to  itself, 
among  which  one  was  supposed  to  be  su- 
perior to  all  others,  and  was  their  king, 
or  father.  This  supreme  divinity,  it  was 
taught,  was  himself  subject  to  the  laws 
oi"  fate,  or  to  an  eternal  destiny." 

The  supreme  divinity  of  the  Greeks 
and  Romans  was  Jupiter;  Mars,  the  god 
of  war;  Apollo  presided  over  music, 
poetry,  etc.;  Mercury  was  the  messenger 
of  the  gods;  Bacchus,  the  god  of  wine, 
and  presided  over  drunkards  ;  Juno,  the 
queen  of  the  gods,  was  both  the  sister  and 
wife  of  Jupiter ;  Minei-va  was  the  god- 
dess of  wisdom ;  Venus  was  the  goddess 
of  the  graces,  the  author  of  elegance, 
beauty,  etc,  and  was  in  reality  the  pa- 
troness of  all  licentiousness.  Besides  these 
were  many  other  inferior  deities  of  lesser 
note,  and  the  most  of  them  were  repre- 
sented as  possessing  the  baser  passions 
of  mankind. 

The  greater  part  of  the  gods  of  all 
nations  were  ancient  heroes,  famous  for 
their  achivcments  and  worthy  deeds, 
such  as  kings,  generals,  founders  of 
cities,  and  likewise  females  who  were 
distinguished  for  their  deeds,  whom  a 
grateful  posterity  had  deified.  To  these' 
some  added  the  more  splendid  and  use- 
ful objects  in  the  natural  world,  among 
which  the  sun,  moon,  and  stars  were  pre- 
eminent, received  worship  among  nearly 
all;  and  some  were  not  ashamed  to  pay 
divine  honors  to  mountains,  rivers,  trees, 
the  earth,  the  ocean,  the  winds,  and  even 
to  diseases,  to  virtues  and  vices,  and  al- 
most every  conceivable  object. 


CHEISTIAN    SIMILITUDES, 


29 


The  worship  of  these  deities  consisted 
of  numerous  ceremonies,  with  sacrifices, 
oiferings,  and  prayers.  The  ceremonies, 
for  the  most  part,  were  absurd  and  ridicu- 
lous, and  throughout,  debasing,  cruel, 
and  obscene.  Most  nations  sacrificed 
animals,  and  many  of  them  human  vic- 
tims. Their  prayers  were  insipid  and 
void  of  piety,  both  in  their  form  and 
manner.  Over  this  whole  worship  pre- 
sided pontiffs,  priests,  and  servants  of  the 
gods,  divided  into,  many  classes,  and 
whose  business  it  was  to  see  that  the 
rites  were  duly  performed.  These  were 
supposed  to  enjoy  the  friendship  and 
familiar  converse  of  the  gods  ;  and  they 
basely  abused  their  authority  to  impose 
on  the  people. 

Besides  this  common  worship,  to  which 
all  had  free  access,  the  Greeks,  and 
others,  had  concealed  rites,  called  myster- 
ies, to  which  very  few  were  admitted. 
Candidates  for  initiation  had  first  to  give 
satisfactory  proof  of  their  good  faith  and 
patience.  When  initiated,  they  could 
not  divulge  any  thing  they  had  seen 
without  exposing  their  lives  to  gi'eat 
danger.  These  mysteries  were  little 
known,  but  it  is  well  authenticated  that 


many  things  were  done  contrary  to  de- 
cency, and  in  all  of  them  the  discerning 
might  see  that  the  deities  there  wor- 
shiped were  more  distinguished  for  their 
vices  than  their  virtues. 

The  whole  pagan  sj'stem  had  not  the 
least  efficacy  to  produce  and  cherish  vir- 
tuous emotions  in  the  soul.  In  the  fii'st 
place,  the  gods  and  goddesses  who  were 
worshiped  were  more  distinguished  for 
their  vices  than  their  virtues.  Though 
considered  as  superior  to  mortals  in 
power,  and  as  exempt  from  death,  yet 
in  all  things  else  they  were  on  a  level 
with  their  votaries.  In  the  next  place, 
most  of  their  ministers,  or  priests, 
neither  by  precept  or  example,  exhorted 
the  people  to  lead  virtuous  lives,  but  the 
homage  required  by  the  gods  consisted 
in  the  observance  of  rites  and  ceremo- 
nies. And,  lastly,  the  doctrines  incul- 
cated respecting  rewards  and  punish- 
ments in  the  future  world  were  dubious 
and  uncertain,  and  others  more  adajjted 
to  promote  vice  than  virtue.  A  univer- 
sal corrujition  of  morals  px*evailed,  and 
crimes,  which  at  this  day  can  not  bo 
named  with  decency,  were  then  practiced 
with  entire  impunity. 


30 


CHEISTIAN    SIMILITUDES. 


LUKE, 

Chap,  xvii: 

verse  5. 


HEBEEWS, 

Chap,  xi: 
verse  6. 


.^^fcoooJU^Vi-^ 


BOMANS, 

Chap,  iv : 

verse  5. 


1  PETER, 
Chap,  i : 
verse  3. 


COLOSSIANS, 
Chap,  i: 
verse  27. 


1  PETEE, 

Chap,  i: 
verse  22. 


FAITH,  HOPE,  AKD  LOVE. 


By  whom  also   we  have  access  by  faith,   . 

Rom.  V  :  2,  1. For  we  are  saved  by  hope. 

Love  is  the  fulfilling  of  the  law.     Mom.  xiii; 


.  .  justified  by  faith. 

Rom.  VIII ;  24. 

10. 


Faith,  Hope,  and  Love,  the  heavenly  three  unite, 
To  form  a  glorious  circle,  firm  and  bright; 
Faith  lifts  the  sacred  cross,  which  can  not  fail, 
And  Hope  her  anchor  casts  within  the  vale; 
While  heaven-born  Love  descended  from  the  skies. 


Stands  linked  with  these,  by  closest,  purest  tie» 
Hail,  sacred  circle  !  beauteous  sisters  three, 
Bright  emblems  of  the  glorious  Trinity, 
Shed  evermore  your  smiles  on  fallen  man. 
And  teach  to  earth  salvation's  wondrous  plan. 


The  circle  is  emblematic  of  Deity, 
■without  beginning  or  end.  Love  being 
a  strong  feature,  or  perhaps  essence,  of 
Divine  nature,  its  emblem  is  placed 
within  the  circle.  Christian  Faith  and 
Hope  are  connected  with  Love  by  the 
strong  cords  of  affection.  Faith  elevates 
the  symbol  of  Christianity,  while  Hope 
casts  her  anchor  within  the  vail. 

Christian  Faith,  though  not  the  great- 
est, stands  the  first  in  order  among  the 
Christian  graces.  By  it  we  take  the 
first  step  heavenward.  AVithout  it,  it  is 
impossible  to  please   God,  for   he  that 


cometh  to  him,  must  believe  that  he  is, 
and  that  he  is  a  re  warder  of  them  thai 
diligently  seek  him. 

The  man  who  professes  that  it  is  his 
duty  to  serve  and  worship  God,  must,  if 
he  acts  rationally,  do  it  on  the  convic- 
tion, first,  that  there  is  such  a  Being, 
infinite,  eternal,  and  self-existent — the 
Cause  of  all — on  whom  all  beings  de-" 
pepend,  and  by  whose  energy,  bounty, 
and  providence  all  other  beings  exist, 
live,  arid  are  supplied  with  the  means  of 
continued  existence  and  life.  He  must 
also  believe  that  he  rewards  all  those  that 


CHEISTIAN    SIMILITUDES. 


31 


diligently  seek  him,  and  that  he  is  not 
indifferent  about  his  own  worship ;  that 
he  requires  adoration  and  religious  ser- 
vice from  man  ;  and  that  he  blesses  and 
especially  protects  and  saves  those  who, 
in  simplicity  and  iiprightness  of  heart, 
seek  and  serve  him.  This  requires  faith 
such  as  mentioned  above. 

Faith  in  Christ,  or  Christian  and 
saving  Faith,  is  that  principle  wrought 
in  the  heart  by  the  Divine  Spirit, 
whereby  we  are  persuaded  that  Christ 
is  the  Messiah ;  and  possess  such  a  de- 
sire and  expectation  of  the  blessings  he 
has  promised  in  his  gospel  as  engages 
the  mind  to  fix  its  dependence  on  him, 
and  subject  itself  to  him  in  all  the  ways 
of  holy  obedience,  and  relying  solely  for 
everlasting  life. 

As  to  the  properties  or  adjuncts  of 
Faith,  it  may  be  observed  that  it  stands 
the  first  in  order,  and  takes  the  prece- 
dence of  other  graces.  "  He  that  be- 
Jieveth  shall  be  saved."  Mark  xvi :  16. 
It  is  every  way  precious  and  valuable. 
"Precious  fixith.  2  Peter:!.  It  appro- 
priates and  realizes,  or  as  the  Aj)ostle 
says,  in  Heb.  xi:  1,  "is  the  substance  of 
things  hoped  for,  and  the  evidence  of 
Vhings  not  seen."  The  evidences  of  faith 
are,  love  to  Christ,  confidence,  prayer, 
■  attention  to  his  ordinances,  zeal  in  pro- 
moting his  glory,  and  holiness  of  heart 
and  life. 

Hope  is  represented  with  an  anchor, 
whei'eby  is  aptly  represented  her  steadi- 
ness and  trust.  In  religious  pictures  she 
lA  often  drawn  with  her  eyes  turned  uj) 
toward  heaven,  in  token  of  her  confi- 
dence in  that  help  which  comes  only 
from  above.  Scarcely  any  passion  seems 
to  be  more  natural  to  man  than  hope; 
and,  considering  the  many  troubles  he  is 
encompassed  with,  none  is  more  neces- 
sary; for  life,  void  of  all  hope,  would  be 
a  heavj'  and  spiritless  thing,  very  little 
desirable,  perhaps  hardly  to  be  borne; 
whereas  hope  infuses  strength  into  the 
mind,  and  by  so  doing,  lessens  the  bur- 
dens of  life.     If  in  trouble,  we  hope  it 


will  be  removed;  this  helps  us  to  sup- 
port it  with  patience. 

It  is  said,  in  an  old  heathen  fable,  that 
when  Prometheus  stole  fire  from  heaven, 
with  which  he  animated  mortal  bodies, 
he  gave  Pandora  a  box  which  was  close 
shut;  but  her  curiosity  (which  the  god 
foresaw)  prompting  her  to  open  it,  out. 
flew  a  variety  of  plagues  and  evils,  which 
immediately  dispersed  themselves  over 
the  world.  Confounded  and  astonished. 
Pandora  at  length  shut  the  fatal  box 
again,  when,  all  the  rest  of  its  contents 
being  fled,  hope  alone  remained  at  the 
bottom,  which  proved  the  only  consola- 
tion to  mankind  for  the  plagues  Jove 
had  sent  among  them. 

The  Christian's  hope  is  an  expectation 
of  all  necessary  good,  both  in  time  and 
eternity,  founded  on  the  promises,  rela- 
tions, and  perfections  of  God,  and  on  the 
ofiices,  righteousness  of  Christ.  It  is 
composed  of  desire,  expectation,  patience, 
and  joy.  It  may  be  considered  as  pure, 
as  it  is  resident,  in  that  heart  which  is 
cleansed  from  sin:  as  good  (in  distinction 
from  the  hope  of  the  hypocrite),  as  de- 
riving his  origin  from  God,  and  center- 
ing in  him.  It  is  called  lively  (1  Peter 
i:  3),  as  it  proceeds  from  spiritual  life, 
and  renders  one  active  and  lively  in 
good  words.  It  is  courageous,  (Eom.  v : 
5 ;  1  Thess.  v :  8,)  because  it  excites  for- 
titude in  all  the  troubles  of  life,  and 
yields  support  in  the  hour  of  death, 
(Prov.  xiv:  32)  ;  sure,  (Heb.  vi:  19,)  be- 
cause it  will  not  disappoint  us,  and  is 
fixed  on  a  sure  foundation  ;  joyful,  (Rom. 
V :  2,)  as  it  produces  the  greatest  felicity 
in  the  anticipation  of  complete  deliver- 
ance from  all  evil. 

"The  hope  of  eternal  life  is  repre- 
sented as  the  soul's  anchor;  the  world  is 
the  boisterous,  dangerous  sea;  the  Chris- 
tian course,  the  voyage;  the  port,  ever- 
lasting felicity ;  and  the  vale,  the  inner 
road,  the  royal  dock  in  which  that  anchor 
was  cast.  The  storms  of  life  continue 
but  a  short  time;  the  anchor  hope,  if 
fixed  by  faith  in  the  eternal  world,  will 


82 


CHEISTIAN    SIMILITUDES. 


infallibly  prevent  all  shipwreck ;  the 
Boul  may  be  strongly  tossed  by  various 
temptations,  but  will  not  drive,  because 
the  anchor  is  in  sure  ground,  and  itself 
is  steadfast ;  it  does  not  drag,  and  it  does 
not  break.  Faith,  like  the  cable,  is  the 
connecting  medium  between  the  ship 
and  the  anchor,  or  the  soul  and  its  hope 
of  heaven  ;  faith  sees  the  heaven,  hope 
desires  and  anticipates  the  rest ;  faith 
works  and  holds  fast,  and  shortly  the 
soul  enters  into  the  haven  of  eternal 
repose." 

Love  consists  in  approbation  of,  and 
inclination  toward,  an  object  that  ap- 
pears to  us  as  good.  Love  to  God  is  a 
divine  principle  im23lanted  in  the  mind 
by  the  Holy  Spirit,  whereby  we  rever- 
ence, esteem,  desire,  and  delight  in  Him 
as  the  supreme  good ;  viewed  as  an  at- 
tribute of  Deity,  it  may  be  considered 
as  the  essence  of  the  Divine  nature,  for 
it  is  declared  by  divine  insj^iration  that 
"God  is  Love."  It  has  been  well  ob- 
served, that  though  God  is  holy,  just, 
righteous,  etc.,  he  is  never  called  holi- 
ness, justice,  etc.,  in  the  abstract,  as  ho 
is  here  called  love. 

He  that  loves  God  will  love  his  neigh- 
bor also.  Brotherly  Love  is  an  affection 
to  our  neighbors,  and  especially  to  the 
saints,  prompting  us  to  every  act  of 
kindness  toward  them.  It  must  flow 
from  love  to  God,  and  extend  to  all  man- 
kind ;  yea,  Ave  ai*e  required  by  the  high- 
est authority  to  love  even  our  enemies. 
Love  is  the  fulfilling  of  the  law,  and 
makes  mankind  to  resemble  the  inhabit- 
ants of  heaven. 

The  Charity  or  Love  which  God  rec- 
ommends, (says  an  able  commentator,) 
the  Apostle  describes  in  the  following 
sixteen  particulars. 

1.  Chnritii  suffereth  long.  The  love  of 
God,  and  our  neighbor  for  God's  sake,  is 
patience  toward  all  ^men :  it  suffers  all 
the  weakness,  ignorance,  errors,  and  in- 
firmities of  the  children  of  God,  and  all 
the  malice  and  wickedness  of  the  chil- 
dren of  this  world ;    and    all   this    not 


merely  for  a  time,  but  long  without  end ; 
for  it  is  still  a  mind  and  disposition,  to 
the  end  of  which  trials,  difficulties,  etc., 
can  never  reach.  It  waits  God's  timo 
for  the  removal  of  afflictions,  and  bears 
them  without  murmuring. 

2.  It  is  kind;  it  is  tender  and  compas- 
sionate in  itself,  and  kind  and  obliging 
to  others.     It  is  mild,  gentle,  and  benign. 

3.  Charity  envieth  not,  is  not  grieved 
because  another  possess  a  greater  por- 
tion of  earthly,  intellectual,  or  spiritual 
blessings. 

4.  Charity  vaunteth  not  itself,  or  does 
not  set  itself  forward  in  order  to  bo 
noticed  or  applauded,  and  is  not  dis- 
turbed because  unnoticed  or  unknown. 

5.  It  is  not  2^'^ff^(i  Wj  ^^  inflated  with 
a  sense  of  its  own  importance.  Every 
man  whose  heart  is  filled  with  the  lovo 
of  God,  is  filled  with  humanit}'';  he  feela 
like  a  little  child,  knowing  that  if  thero 
is  any  thing  good  about  him,  it  comeft 
from  God. 

6.  Doth  not  behave  itself  unseemly,  or, 
according  to  commentators,  never  acts 
out  of  place  or  character,  never  is  un- 
mannerly or  brutish,  but,  as  far  as  pos- 
sible, is  willing  to  please  all  men  for 
their  good  and  edification. 

7.  Seeketh  not  her  own;  that  is,  accord- 
ing to  the  original  expression,  is  not  de- 
sirous of  her  own  spiritual  welfare  only, 
but  of  her  neighbor's  also.  That  man  is 
no  Christian  Avho  passes  through  life 
not  caring  how  the  world  goes,  so  that 
himself  is  comfortable. 

8.  7s  not  easily  provoked,  or  is  not  ir- 
ritated, made  sour,  or  embittered. 

9.  Thinketh  not  evil;  does  surmise  evil 
where  no  evil  appears,  gives  every  man 
credit  for  his  profession  of  religion,  up- 
rightness, etc.,  while  nothing  is  seen  in 
his  conduct  or  spirit  inconsistent  with 
this  profession. 

10.  Bejoiceth  not  in  iniquity;  does  not 
take  any  delight  in  fraud,  violence,  wher- 
ever or  whoever  against  it  may  be  prac- 
ticed; does  not  rejoice  in  the  suffering 
of  enemies. 


CHEISTIAJS"     SIMILITUDES. 


11.  But  rejoices  in  the  truth,  or  every 
thing  that  is  opj)Osito  to  falsehood  and 
irreligion. 

12;  Beareth  all  things,  or,  as  rendered 
by  some  ti'anslators,  covereth  all  things. 
A  person  under  the  influence  of  this 
love  covers,  as  far  as  he  consistently  can, 
the  follies,  faults,  and  imperfections  of 
others,  not  making  them  the  subject  of 
censure  or  conversation. 

13.  Believeth  all  things;  ever  ready  to 
believe  the  best  of  every  person,  and 
gladly  receives  whatever  may  tend  to 
the  advantage  of  those  whose  character 
may  have  suffered  by  detraction. 

14.  Hopeth  all  things ;  when  there  is 
left  no  place  of  believing  good  of  a  per- 
son, then  love  comes  in  with  its  hope, 
and  begins  to  make  allowances  and  ex- 
cuses, as  far  as  a  good  conscience  can 
permit,  and  hopes  that  the  transgressor 

21 


may  reform  and  be  restored  to  the  good 
oj)inion  of  society. 

15.  Endureth  all  things;  bears  adver- 
sities with  an  even  mind,  submits  with 
resignation  to  the  dispensation  of  the 
providence  of  God,  and  endures  trials, 
afflictions,  and  insults. 

16.  Charity  never  faileth.  Love  being 
of  Grod,  will  ever  remain,  while  all  hu- 
man acquirements  being  necessary  in 
the  eternal  woi'ld,  will  pass  away, 

Love  is  properly  the  image  of  God  in 
the  soul.  By  faith  we  receive  from  our 
Maker;  by  hope  a  future  and  eternal 
good  ;  but  by  love  we  resemble  God,  and 
by  it  alone  are  we  qualified  to  enjoy 
heaven.  Faith  is  th-e  foundation  of 
Christian  life;  Hope  rears  the  structure, 
but  Love  finishes,  completes,  and  crowua 
it  in  a  blessed  eternity. 


34 


ClimSTlAN     SIMILITUDES. 


1  CORINTH'NS, 

Chap,  ii: 
verse  10. 


1  PETER, 

Chap,  i : 


verse  8,  ^m' 


HEBREWS, 
Chap,  xi: 
verse  13. 


PSALM 

cxxvii : 
verse  2. 


EOMANS, 
Chap,  i: 
verse  20. 


PSALM 

xix: 
verse  1. 


HEBREWS, 

Chap,  xi: 

verse  1. 


GALATIANS, 

Chap,  xi : 
verse  20. 


IMAGmATIOX,  PHILOSOPHY,  AND  FAITH. 

From  the  tops  of  the  rocks  I  see  him,  and  from  the  hills  I  behold 

him.     Num.xxiii:   9. Prove  all  things;  holdfast  that  ivhich  is 

good.      1  Thcss.  v:  21. Now  faith  is  the  substance  of  things 

hojjed  for.     Heb.  xi:  1. 


Imagination  borne  on  radiant  wings, 
With  voice  and  form  angelic  sweetly  sings; 
Tier  rosy  pinions  glow  with  beauty  bright, 
Her  smiling  glances  ftU  the  soul  with  light; 
The  canvas  glows,  as  if  by  magic  wand. 
Beneath  the  touches  of  her  beauteous  hand; 
New  scenes  of  joy  before  the  vision  rise. 
And  glowing  splendors  fill  the  opening  skies. 


Divine  Philosophy  with  studious  art 

And  softer  transports  fill  the  earnest  heart; 

By  reason's  light,  its  warm  excitement  calms, 

Studies  the  soul,  and  unbelief  disarms, 

While  smiling  Faith,  the  fairest  of  the  three, 

Lends  to  the  scene,  a  bright  reality; 

She  bears  aloft  the  cross,  and  to  the  skies, 

Bids  the  believer  lift  his  tearful  eyes. 


In  our  pilgrimage  through  these  mor- 
tal scenes,  the  Almighty  has  not  left  us 
to  travel  alone  uneheered  by  heavenly 
visitants  or  companions.  There  are 
three  daughters  of  Heaven  who  walk 
the  earth  and  minister  to  us,  day  and 


night.     They  are  Imagination,   Philoso- 
phy, and  Faith. 

First  comes  Imagination  with  rapid 
wing,  radiant  and  angelic  form,  beam- 
ing eyes,  with  voice  sweet  and  heavenly. 
On    <j:Iowino-  canvas    she  shows  to  the 


CHRISTIAN     SIMILITUDES. 


35 


weary  traveler  a  bri2:ht  picture  of  heav- 
enly mansions  of  rest;  a  halo  of  glory 
surrounds  it,  showing  the  presence  of 
Him,  who  dwellcth  in  light,  who  is 
above  ali,  and  who  dwelleth  among  his 
people. 

0  blest  Imagination,  how  many  hearts 
hast  thou  cheered  while  in  tliis  vale  of 
tears  !  Daughter  of  Heaven,  thou,  when 
storms  and  tempests  rage  around,  canst 
teach  us  not  to  look  at  the  things  which 
are  seen,  but  to  those  unseen,  eternal 
in  the  heavens.  Scenes  yet  unknown  to 
mortal  eyes  are  depicted  before  us ;  we 
move  amid  the  bovvers  of  Paradise ;  we 
hear  ange'ic  voices;  we  meet  in  fond 
en^brace  those  we  love,  but  who  long 
ago  have  departed  these  mortal  shores. 
We  meet  and  converse  with  the  good 
of  every  age,  we  join  the  General  As- 
sembly of  the  I'ansomod  ones  on  high, 
and,  above  all,  we  have  the  Captain  of 
our  salvation  with  us,  who  leads  us 
through  the  green  pastures  and  beside 
the   still    waters. 

See  the  traveller  on  the  scorched  des- 
erts of  Sahara.  He  is  parched  with 
thirst,  and  seeks  in  vain  for  the  cooling 
draught.  He  digs  perhaps  into  the 
earth;  he  sees,  it  may  be,  the  distant 
mirage,  promising  an  abundant  supply 
of  water,  but  he  is  doomed  to  disap- 
pointment, until,  at  last,  overcome  by 
fatigue  and  despair,  he  sinks  and  faints 
upon  the  sandy  plain.  He  dreams. 
Imagination  comes  to  his  relief;  she 
bears  him  to  his  native  village ;  he  is 
beside  its  running  fountains  and  spark- 
ling streams ;  he  drinks  of  its  living 
waters,  and  bathes  his  limbs  in  its 
floods.  For  a  time  at  least,  though 
short,  he  forgets  the  burning  desert, 
and   his   joy   is   full. 

Another  is  overtaken  amid  wintry 
storms  of  ice  and  snow.  The  chill  and 
sleep  of  death  is  creeping  upon  him, 
while  the  storm  thickens  around.  Im- 
agination, like  a  friend,  points  out  the 
danger  of  yielding  to  the  chilling  blast, 
and    shows    him  a    mangled    corse,   torn 


by  ravening  wolves  who  roam  around 
these  icy  regions.  Or,  in  kinder  mood, 
she  depicts  the  cheerful  blaze  at  his 
own  ha]i|)y  fireside,  when  he  is  aroused, 
stru2:gles  on,  and  finally  escapes. 

Though  pressed  by  poverty  to  a  hovel, 
to  a  threadbare  garment  and  a  scanty 
meal,  yet  Imagination  can  lift  one  above 
his  surroundings  and  conduct  him  up- 
ward with  exultant  joy.  Chains  and 
dungeons  can  but  give  force  to  its  spirit. 
Bunyan,  that  "  Prince  of  dreamers," 
through  Heavenly  Imagination,  has 
spoken  living  truth  to  past  ages,  to  the 
present,  and  will  yet  speak  to  ages  yet 
to  come.  When  the  eyelids  are  closed, 
when  the  Father  of  us  all  "  gives  his 
beloved  sleep,"  how  often  does  he  trans- 
port them  to  scenes  more  beautiful  than 
earth  can  show?  Angels  and  seraphs 
are  our  companions ;  we  hear  with  other 
than  mortal  ears  heavenly  anthems  of 
praise. 

Man,  being  a  compound  being,  can 
not  live  or  be  guided  by  Imagination 
alone.  If  his  fond  dreams  find  no  cor- 
responding reality  in  life,  he  will  be 
tempted  to  douljt  the  reality  of  the 
scenes  presented  by  Imagination.  He 
begins  to  ask,  What  is  Truth  ?  Is  there 
a  God,  and  what  is  his  nature  ?  Is  he  a 
good  being,  and  does  he  care  for  and 
take  delight  in  the  happiness  of  his 
creatures  ?  He  wishes  some  demonstra- 
tion of  the  truth  of  what  has  been  pre- 
sented by   Imagination. 

Divine  Philosophy  now  comes  to  his 
aid.  Slie  teaches  that  there  must  be  a 
first  cause  for  all  that  we  beho:d  about 
us,  and  that  first  cause  must  have  been 
unmade.      In  the  language  of  the  poet ; 

Retire— the  world  shut  out — thy  thoughts  call 

homo, 
Imagination's  airy  wing  repress; 
Tlien,  in  thy  soul's  deep  silende,  thus  inquire, 
What  ami?  and  from  whence  ?  I  nothiu<;  know, 
But  that  I  am. . .  .  Had  there  e'er  been  nought. 
Nought  still  had  been.     Eternal  there  must  be. 

****** 
Whence  earth  and  these  bright  orbs?  ctern  al  too? 
Grant  mutter  was  eternal ;  still  these  orus 


36 


CHEISTIAN     SIMILITUDES. 


Would  want  some  other  father.     Much  design 
Is  seen  in  all  their  motio'.is,  all  their  makes; 
Design  implies  intelligence  and  art, 

That  can't  be  from  themselves 

If  art  to  form,  and  council  to  conduct, 
And  with  greater  far  than  human  skill 
Besides  not  in  each  block — a  Godhead  reigns— 
And  if  a  God  there  is— that  God  how  great! 

That  God  is  good  and  kind,  appears 
in  his  creation.  He  opens  his  hand  and 
satisfies  the  desires  of  his  creatures, 
granting  them  food  and  raiment  neces- 
sary and  convenient. 

God  has  created  man  with  a  desire 
after  immortalit3^  "VVhj-  this  universal 
belief  among  the  wisest  and  best  of  all 
nations  in  a  future  life?  Does  the  All- 
wise  intend  to  deceive  the  creatures 
whom  he  hath  made?  Keason  and  true 
Pliiloso])hy  give  an  emphatic  No! 

Mark  how  the  good  man  feels  when  he 
obeys  the  law  of  love  toward  iii^  fellow-men. 
He  feels  that  God  approves,  and  all  is  well. 
His  conscience  bearing  witness,  his  happiness 
increases.  He  feels  that  God  is  Love,  and  that 
he  will  be  forever  blest  if  he  obeys  the  voicd 
within.  Mark  him  who  does  his  neighbor 
wrong  ;  peace  departs,  his  soul  is  tormented, 
he  fear>  and  shuns  the  pi-esence  of  his  Maker. 
Although  he  may  profess  to  disbelieve  in  the 
existence  of  a  (jlod,  yet  he  can  not  escape  the 
lashings  of  his  conscience  within.  Does,  not 
God  teach  by  the  Spirit  that  he  has  placed 
within  the  soul,  that  he  will  reward  the  right- 
eous and  punish  the  wicked  ?  Does  he  intend 
to  deceive  mankind  by  manifestations  thus 
given  ? 

Man  "has  a  soul  of  vast  desires,"  that  can 
range  o'er  the  creation  of  God  in  a  moment  of 
time  ;  it  can  take  into  contemplation  other 
worlds  and  beings.  Would  the  Almighty  cre- 
ate a  being  with  such  desires  and  aspirations, 
elevate  him  above  many  orders  of  beings,  and 
then  sink  him  into  nothing?  Nature  recoils 
at  the  thought,  and  Philosophy  answers  No  ! 
In  the  language  of  Mr.  Addison,  wliich  may 
be  considered  as  a  kind  of  paraphrase  on  the 
words  of  the  Apostle,  (2.  cor.  v.),  it  is  thus 
forcibly  stated  : 

Whence  tliis  pleasing  hope,  this  fond  desire, 
This  longing  after  innnoriallty  ? 
Or  whence  this  secret  dread  and  inwird  horror 
Of  falling  into  nauglit  ?   Why  slirinks  tl>e  soul 
B  tck  ou  herself,  and  startles  at  destructiou  ? 
'Tis  the  DioiiiUy  that  stirs  witUiu  us  : 


'Tis  Heaven  itself  that  points  out  an  hereafter, 

And  intimates  eternity  to  man 

The  soul  secured  in  her  existence,  smiles 

At  the  drawn  dagger,  and  defies  its  point. 

The  stars  shall  fade  away,  the  sun  himself 

Grow  dim  with  age,  and  nature  sink  in  years; 

But  thou  shalt  flourish  in  immortal  youth, 

Unhurt  amidst  the  war  of  elements. 

The  wreck  of  matter  and  the  crush  of  worlds. 

TJie  traveler  being  convinced  by  the  truth 
of  true  Philosophy,  accepts  the  guidance  of 
Christian  Faith.  She  is  represented  as  holding 
a  cross,  the  emblem  of  Christianity,  and  points 
upward  to  a  mansion  on  high.  Under  the 
guidance  of  this  daughter  of  Heaven,  the  Pil- 
grim can  overcome  all  difficulties.  She  sup- 
ports him  in  poverty  and  affliction,  in  humili- 
ation and  disappointment.  By  her  power  he 
can  calmly  look  upon  these  things  which  may 
thicken  around  him,  and  he  can  even  look 
death  in  the  face.  He  recognizes  the  realities 
of  eternal  scenes,  compared  with  which  the 
concerns  of  this  world  dwindle  into  minor  im- 
portance. 

Faith,  the  Apostle  declares,  is  the  substance 
of  things  hojied  for,  the  evidence  of  things  not 
seen;  or  in,  other  words,  the  passage  may  imply 
such  a  conviction  as  is  impressed  upon  the 
mind  by  the  demonstration  of  a  problem,  after 
which  proof  no  doubt  can  remain.  The  things 
hoped  for  are  the  peace  and  approbation  of 
God,  and  those  blessings  by  which  he  is  sus- 
tained in  his  pathway  and  prepared  <br  the 
Kingdom  of  Heaven.  In  an  extended  sense, 
the  things  hoped  lor  are  the  resurrection  of 
the  body,  the  new  heavens  and  the  new  earth, 
the  introduction  of  believers  into  the  heavenly 
country,  and  the  possessions  of  eternal  glory. 
The  things  unseen  are  the  creation  of  the 
world  out  of  nothing,  the  resurrection  of  Christ 
from  the  dead,  his  ascension  and  his  media- 
tion at  the  right  hand  of  God,  all  of  which  we 
firmly  believe  on  the  testimony  of  God's  word. 

Faith  comforts  the  soul  with  the  assurance 
of  another  and  better  life.  Happy  is  he  who, 
with  a  firm  and  truthful  voice,  says,  "I  believe 
in  the  resurrection  of  the  body,  and  the  life 
everlasting."  It  animates  the  soul.  Eternal 
life!  A  life  with  God!  with  the  General  As- 
sembly of  just  men,  the  Church  of  the  first 
born,  pure  and  holy.  Here  are  no  disappoint- 
ments, but  joy  present  and  complete,  future 
and  eternal ! 

"'Tis  Immortality — 'tis  that  alone. 
Amidst  Life's  pn-ins,  atmsements,  emptiness. 
The  soul  can  comfort,  elevate,  and  fill. ' — Young, 


CHKISTIAN     SIMILITUDES 


37 


I  PETEE, 
Chap,  i: 
verse  17. 


ACTS, 

Chap.  ix. 
verse  31. 

PSALM 

cxii : 
verse  1. 


■^ 


PSALM 

cxlvi : 

verse  5. 

1  PETER, 
Chap,  i: 
verse  13. 


JEEEMIAH, 

Chap,  xvii 

verse  17. 


FEAR  AXD  IIOrE. 

Be  not  high-minded  hut  fear.     Rom.  x:  20 The  Lord  talcth 

pleasure  in  them  that  fear  him,  and  in  them  that  hope  in  his  mercy. 
Ps.  cxLVii:  11. 


Behold  the  gentle  sisters,  hand  in  hand, 
Are  traveling  on,  to  seek  a  heavenly  land. 
Fear,  pale  and  trembling,  on  each  side  descries 
Some  hidden  foe,  expects  some  new  surprise ; 
She  dreads  the  serpent,  'neath  the  rose  concealed. 
And  sees  the  reptile  in  his  lair  revealed; 
With  cautious  step  she  moves  'mid  anxious  cares. 
And  ever  for  defense,  a  shield  she  bears. 
Hope,  with  her  anchor,  treads  with  footstep  light, 


Looks  to  the  skies,   -where  all   seems    fair    and 

bright. 
Sees  not  the  dangers  that  her  path  beset, 
And  all  her  hidden  foes  would  fain  forget. 
But  Fear,  with  caution    guards    and   shields  lier 

way, 
Thus,  hand  in  hand,  their  prudence  they  display; 
So  Hope  and  Fear  the  Christian's  path  attend, 
I  Together  cheer,  and  shelter,  and  befriend. 


Fear  and  hope  are  here  personified 
by  two  female fi inures,  holding  each  other 
by  the  hand,  both  of  whom  are  travel- 
ing to  the  celestial  city  through  this 
present  evil  world.  Fear  is  alive  to 
the  dangers  which  beset  her  pathway. 
She  discovers  the  poisonous  serpent 
concealed,  it  may  be  behind  the  rose- 
bush; she  hears  the  growl  of  the  wild 
beast,  for  Satan  himself  is  represented 
as  a  roaring  lion  going  about  seeking 
whom  he  may  devour.     "Forewarned, 


forearmed."  Fear  therefore  walks  for- 
Avard  with  caution,  armed  with  a  shield 
for  defense.  Hope,  on  the  other  hand, 
having  the  anchor  by  her  side,  is  con- 
tinually looking  upward,  and  perhaps 
does  not  always  pay  sufficient  atten- 
tion to  the  dangers  which  may  lurk 
around,  but  by  having  Fear  for  a  com- 
panion, she  is  shielded  and  protected 
from  her  enemies.  Indeed,  these  two 
ought  not  to  be  separated  while  the 
heavenly  pathway  is  being  traversed. 


38 


CHEISTIAN     SIMILITUDES. 


"  Hopes  and  Fears"  eays  one,  "  are  the  great 
springs  of  liuman  actions,  and  though  seem- 
ingly standing  in  opposition  to  one  another, 
they  jointly  contribute  to  the  accomplishment 
of  the  same  ends.  Hope  that  is  altogether 
fearless  acts  with  rashness,  or  sinks  into  tor- 
por; but  accompanied  with  Fear,  it  is  vigilant 
as  well  as  diligent.  On  the  other  hand,  fear 
unaccompanied  with  hope,  is  despair;  and 
despair  furnishes  no  stimulatioti  to  enterprise. 
It  is  bv  the  due  balancing  of  these  two  grand 
principles,  Hope  and  Fear,  that  the  human 
species  are  governed,  and  stimulated  to  actions 
tending  to  the  preservation  of  the  individuals 
and  to  the  general  weal.  Our  holy  religion 
itself  addresses  alike  our  hopes  and  fears." 

It  is  declared  by  divine  inspiration  that  "the 
fear  of  the  Lord  is  the  beginning  of  wisdom." 
This  fear  of  God,  according  to  religious  writ- 
ers, is  that  holy  disposition  or  gracious  habits 
formed  in  the  soul  by  the  Holy  Spirit,  whereby 
we  areinclined  to  obey  all  of  God  s  commands; 
and  evinces  itself  by"  a  dread  of  his  displeas- 
ure— a  desire  for  his  favor — regard  for  his  ex- 
cellencies— submission  to  his  will — sincerity 
in  his  worship,  and  conscientious  obedience  to 
his  commands.  He  that  possesses  the  fear  of 
God  can  be  confided  in.  Men  can  deceive 
each  other,  and,  it  may  be,  have  little  regard 
for  what  their  fellows  can  do  for  or  against 
them,  but  they  know  that  from  the  Almighty 
nothing  can  be  concealed,  and  that  he  will 
require  a  strict  account  of  all  their  thoughts 
and  actions. 

Hope  is  one  of  the  greatest  blessings  ever 
granted  to  man,  even  as  far  as  the  present 
world  is  concerned.  It  is  said,  m  the  old  hea- 
then fable,  that  when  Prometheus  stole  fire 
from  heaven  with  which  he  animated  mortal 
bodies,  Jupiter,  the  supreme  divinity,  in  anger 
to  mankind,  gave  Pandora  a  closed  box,  but 
her  curiosity — which  the  god  foresaw — prompt- 
ing her  to  open  it,  out  flew  a  variety  of  plagues 
and  evils,  which  imntediately  dispersed  them- 
selves over  the  world.  Confounded  and  aston- 
ished, Pandora  shut  the  fatal  box  again,  when 
all  the  rest  of  the  contents  being  fled,  Hope 
alone  remained  at  the  bottom,  which  proved 
the  only  consolation  that  Jupiter  or  Jove  had 
sent  among  them. 

Hope  is  the  first  great  blessing  here  below, 

The  only  balm  to  heal  corroding  wo; 

It  la  the  BtaflF  of  age,  the  sick  man's  health; 


The    prisoner's   freedom,    and    the   poor    man's 

wealth; 
The  sailor's  safety,  tossing  as  one  breath, 
It  still  holds  on,  nor  quits  us  e'en  in  death. 

Alas!  without  hope,  of  what  value  would 
our  mortal  existence  prove  ?  How  siiould  we 
be  enabled  to  bear  up  under  ditticulties;  what 
cordial  should  we  have  to  opjiose  to  the  thou- 
sand heart-corroiling  cares  with  which  this 
frail  life  abounds?  It  is  then  we  avail  our- 
selves of  this  anchor,  and  of  the  three  Chris- 
tian graces;  but  are  mo.'it  relieved  by  Hope, 
which  leads  on,  through  faith,  to  the  promise 
of  happier  days  here,  and  to  endless  bliss  be- 
vond  the  grave. 

To  be  without  hope  is  the  most  dreadful  of 
all  earthly  punishments;  it  is  the  refuge  of 
the  poor  and  needy,  and  renders  the  distribu- 
tion of  our  lots  below  more  equal,  since  the 
high  and  low,  the  rich  and  poor,  can  not,  with 
justice,  be  deemed  so  widely  difierent  in  theii 
estates,  when  we  consider  that 

These  are  placed  in  hope  and  those  in  fear. 

"Hope  is,  in  short,  our  best  companion;  it 
leads  us,  as  it  were,  by  the  hand  through  all 
difficulties  and  dangers;  and  it  may  justly  be 
said  of  it,  as  has  been  observed  of  love,  that 

The  cordial  drop  heaven  in  our  life  has  thrown, 
To  make  the  nauseous  draught  of  life  go  down." 

"There  is,"  says  Dr.  Johnson,  "no  temper 
so  generally  indulged  as  hope;  other  passions 
operate  by  starts  on  particular  occasions  or  in 
certain  parts  of  life;  but  hope  begins  with  the 
first  power  of  comparing  our  actual  with  our 
possible  state,  and  attends  us  through  every 
state  and  period,  always  urging  us  onward  to 
new  acquisitions,  and  holding  out  some  dis- 
tant blessings  to  our  view,  promising  us  either 
relief  from  pain  or  increase  of  happiness." 

Hope  is  necessary  in  every  condition.  The 
miseries  of  poverty,  of  sickness,  captivity, 
would,  without  this  comfort,  be  insupportable; 
nor  does  it  appear  that  the  highest  lot  of  ter- 
restrial existence  can  set  us  above  the  want  of 
this  general  blessinc,  or  that  life,  when  the 
gifts  of  nature  and  of  fortune  are  accumu- 
lated upon  it,  would  not  still  be  wretched,  were 
it  not  elevated  and  delighted  by  the  expecta- 
tion of  some  new  possession,  of  some  enjoy- 
ment yet  to  come,  by  which  the  wish  shall  be 
at  last  satisfied,  and  the  heart  filled  up  to  ita 
utmost  extent 


CHEISTIAN    SIMILITUDES. 


:19 


PHILIPPIANS, 

Chap,  iv  : 

verse  6. 


PSALM 
vi: 

verse  9. 


PROVERBS, 
Chap.  XV : 

verse  8. 


JAMES, 
Chap,  v: 
verse  16. 


DANIEL, 

Chap,  ix: 
verse  21. 


m\         PSALM 


en: 
verse  17. 


ISAIAH, 

Chap.  Ixv: 
verse  24. 


ROMANS, 
Chap,  x: 
verse  13. 


THE  SPIRITUAL  TELEGRAPH. 

TTien  shall  thou  call  and  the  Lord  shall  ansicer.     Is.  lviii 
And  while  they  are  yet  speaking  I  will  hear.     Is.  lxv  :  24. 


Thought  o'er  the  wire  speeds  on  with  lightning 

wings, 
And  lo!  an  instantaneous  answer  brings; 
But  far  outgoing  telegraphic  speed, 
The  one  above  the  sinner's  prayer  will  heed. 
From  worlds  beyond  the  remotest,  faintest  star, 
The  message  comes  from  Heaven's  high  realms 

afar. 


When  thoughts  upon  the   wire  of  prayer  as* 

cend, 
Earth  and  Heaven  together  quickly  blend. 
By  the  ascending  steps  Faith,  Hope,  and  Love, 
We  gain  quick  access  to  the  Power  above; 
The  promises  of  God. are  props  which  bear 
Aloft  the  telegraphic  wires  of  prayer. 


The  power  of  communicating  thought 
or  words  to  distant  regions  in  a  moment 
of  time,  is  one  of  the  greatest  discover- 
ies of  modern  times.  The  nature  of  the 
agent  b}'  which  this  is  accomplished  is 
wonderful  and  mysterious.  In  a  certain 
sense,  time  and  distance  arc  almost  anni- 
hilated.    Id  an  instant  we  can  send  our 


words,  our  thoughts,  and  desires  over 
wide  countries,  through  mighty  seas,  to 
those  we  wish  to  see,  and  hold  sweet 
converse  with  those  we  love. 

This  method  of  communication  is,  \u 
some  respects,  a  striking  similitude  to 
that  by  which  man  can  make  his  wants 
known  to  his  Father  above,  and  hold 


40 


CHEISTIAN     SIMILITUDES. 


close  converse  with  him.  For  the  wel- 
fare and  convenience  of  his  creatures, 
the  Great  Proprietor  of  all  has  estab- 
lished stations  where  they  can  send  their 
petitions  and  desires,  and  receive  gracious 
answers.  These  stations  are  the  sanctu- 
aries or  places  where  God's  people  meet. 
To  get  into  communication,  the  appli- 
cant or  operator  must  ascend  the  steps 
of  Faith  and  Hope  to  that  of  Love  and 
Prayer.  Here  he  can  send  his  messages 
by  the  telegraph  wire  of  prayer,  over 
hills  and  mountains,  up  vast  heights, 
even  to  regions  beyond  the  clouds — to 
the  Great  God  who  is  above  all,  with 
the  expectation  of  i*eceiving  a  speedy 
answer. 

The  telegraph  wire  is  suppoi'ted 
throughout  its  course  by  props.  These 
represent  the  promises  of  God,  firm  and 
everlasting,  being  in  this  respect  unlike 
those  which  we  often  see  in  other  lines 
of  communication,  which  are  blown 
down  and  broken  by  tempests.  The 
props  of  the  Spiritual  Telegraph  line, 
however,  remain  forever  the  same. 
When  tempests  sweep  around,  and  light- 
nings flash,  when  thunders  roll,  they 
neither  bend  nor  break,  but  stand  up- 
right while  ceaseless  ages  roll! 

Though  we  may  be  in  the  depths  of 
afllietion,  the  wires  of  the  Spiritual  Tel- 
egraph are  ever  within  our  reach.  Our 
Heavenly  Father  understands  every 
touch  we  make,  and  oftentimes,  when 
we  are  yet  speaking,  he  will  answer  our 
petitions.  Though  we  may  be  in  the 
depths  of  poverty,  and  know  not  where 
to  obtain  our  daily  bread — though  our 
clothes  may  be  in  tatter?,  so  as  to  render 
us  unfit  to  appear  in  public,  yet  we  have 
the  privilege  of  using  the  telegraphic 
wires  without  money  and  without  price. 

On  the  telegraphic  lines,  certain  per- 
sons have  privileges  which  are  not 
granted  to  others,  such  as  those  who 
hold  official  stations,  etc.,  who  have  the 
right  of  sending  communications  over 
the  wires  before  all  others.  This  is 
deemed  necessary  for  the  gcuei'al  good, 


as  private  aff"airs  must  give  way  to  those 
of  a  public  character.  But  those  who 
use  the  Spiritual  Telegraph  are  under 
no  such  restrictions.  He  "  who  sits  in 
the  circle  of  the  Heavens  "  can  receive 
at  one  and  the  same  moment  myriads  of 
communications  from  every  part  of  his 
vast  creation,  perfectly  understanding 
every  thought  and  desire  of  all  beings 
in  all  worlds.  He  can,  also,  at  one  and 
the  same  moment,  give  as  close  attention 
to  every  applicant,  as  if  there  were  but 
one  among  all  created  beings. 

The  dutiful  son  who  is  in  a  distant 
country,  often  thinks  of  home,  and  sends 
messages  to  those  Avhom  he  loves.  Thus 
the  Christian,  "whose  conversation  is  in 
Heaven,"  will  be  often  sending  messages 
thither  by  the  Spiritual  Telegraph.  He 
has  communications  with  God  the  Father, 
Jesus  Christ  the  Son,  and  with  the  Holy 
Ghost  the  Comforter.  O  blessed  art  of 
holding  communion  with  the  Father  of 
our  spirits !  O  the  height  and  dej)th  of 
that  blessed  wisdom  that  devised  the 
plan,  that  carried  it  out,  and  "opened 
the  kingdom  of  Heaven  to  all  believers ! " 
Kender,  then,  O  Christian,  thy  faithful 
acknowledgements  to  the  Redeemer, 
Mediator,  and  Intercessor !  Eemember 
that  even  amid  the  bus}^  scenes  of  life, 
you  can,  in  an  instant,  touch  the  tele- 
graph wire,  and  open  3'our  heart  like  a 
little  child  to  your  good,  loving  Heavenly 
Father  above,  and  ask  his  guidance  and 
l>rotection.  ^Yhen  you  lie  down  at  night, 
remember  that  swifter  than  an  angel's 
wing  is  the  flight  of  a  believer's  petition 
to  Him  who  never  slumbers  nor  sleeps. 
The  telegraphic  current  of  communi- 
cation is  sometimes  stopped  or  disturbed 
by  storms,  etc.,  in  the  vicinity  of  the 
lines.  So  storms  of  human  passion,  un- 
holy and  opposite  currents  in  the  atmos- 
phere, will,  on  the  Spiritual  Telegraph, 
stop  the  communication  between  God 
and  the  soul.  It  is  the  same  as  "griev- 
ing the  Holy  Spirit  of  God,"  which  we 
do  when  avc  sin,  because  of  his  immedi- 
ate presence  with  us.     When  we  set  up 


CHEISTIAN    SIMILITUDES. 


41 


idols  of  earthly  inclinations  in  our 
hearts — which  are  propei'ly  his  altai' — 
and  bow  down  to  serve  those  vicious 
passions  which  we  ought  to  sacrifice  to 
his  will,  it  is  in  the  highest  degree  griev- 
ous to  him.  "For  what  concord  is  there 
between  the  Holy  Spirit  and  Belial  ?  or 
what  agreement  hath  the  temple  of  God 
with  idols?" 

A  particular  frame  and  temper  of 
soul,  a  sobriety  of  mind,  is  necessary, 
without  which  we  can  have  no  commu- 
nication Avith  our  Father  in  Heaven. 
It  is  in  our  power,  by  the  assistance  of 
the  Holy  Spirit,  to  keep  our  hearts  in  a 
state  of  preparation  to  receive  divine 
communications.  We  must  preserve  our 
minds  in  a  cool  and  serious  disposition, 
in  regulating  and  calming  our  affections, 
and  calling  in  and  checking  the  inordi- 
nate pursuits  of  our  passions  after  the 
vanities  and  pleasures  of  this  world. 
Carelessness  and  inattention  to  the 
teachings  of  the  spirit  will  bring  dark- 
ness into  our  minds,  and  stop  our  inter- 
course with  God. 

Many  who  observe  with  some  exact- 
ness the  outward  acts  of  religion,  in  the 


intervals  of  their  Christian  duties  give 
a  loose  rein  to  their  thoughts,  affections, 
and  discourse.  Such  can  not  long  dwell 
in  harmony  with  God.  By  and  by  a 
fatal  letharg}'  overtakes  them ;  they  lose, 
in  a  great  measure,  the  desire  of  keeping 
up  a  constant  communication  with  spirit- 
ual objects,  and  become  almost  insensi- 
ble to  divine  convictions  ;  such,  unless 
aroused,  will  certainly  be  cut  off  from 
communion  with  holy  beings,  and  the 
Spiritual  Telegraph  closed  against  them 
forever. 

*'  Prayer  ardent  opens  heaven,  lets  down  a 
stream 
Of  glory  on  the  consecrated  hour 
Of  man,  in  audience  with  Deity." 

Dr.  Young. 


"To  the  hills  I  lift  mine  eyes, 
The  everlasting  hills: 
Streaming  thence  in  fresh  supplies, 

My  soul  the  spirit  feels; 
Will  he  not  his  help  afford  ? 

Help,  while  yet  I  ask,  is  given  ; 
God  comes  down ;  the  God  and  Lord 
Who  made  both  earth  and  heaven." 
C.   Wesley. 


42 


C  H  E I S  T  I A  N     SIMILITUDES. 


JOB, 

Chap,  v: 
verse  17. 


HEBEEWS, 

Chap,  xii: 

verse  6. 


MICAII, 

Chap,  ii : 
verse  10. 


EEYELATION, 
Chap,  iii: 
verse  19. 


GENESIS, 
Chap.  1: 
verse  20. 


ACTS, 

Chap,  viii; 

verse  4. 


THE  PARENT  EAGLE. 

As  an  Eagle  stirrcth  up  her  nest,  Jiuttereth  over  her  younq.  spreadeth 

abroad  herioings.     Dent,  xxxii :  11. No  chastening  for  thepres- 

ent  seemeth  to  be  joyous  but  grievous.     Heb.  xii:  11. 


The  parent  eagle  bids  her  young  to  fly, 
And  far  aloft  their  fluttering  pinions  try; 
With  seeming  cruel  haste  she  stirs  their  nest, 
Which  mny  no  longer  be  a  place  of  rest. 
Then  flutters  oer  them,  spreads  her  wings  to  fly. 


And  seeks  to  bear  the  little  ones  on  high. 
They  learn  to  trust  their  feeble  wings  at  length. 
And  soar  aloft  with  all  their  parent's  strength. 
So  oft  in  life,  the  fate  that  seems  so  hard. 
Brings  in  the  end  exertion's  rich  reward. 


It  is  related  as  a  fact  in  the  natural 
history  of  the  eagle,  that  when  the 
proper  time  has  arrived  for  the  young 
eaglets  to  leave  their  nest,  the  parent 
eagle  so  stirs  it  up  that  they  can  not  stay 
in  it  longer,  and  they  are  obliged  to 
find  some  other  spot  in  which  to  live. 
They  now  naako  their  first  attempt  to 
use  their  wings:  in  this  they  are  as 
sisted  by  the  parent  bird,  wlio  flutters 
over  and  about  them;  spreads  out  her 
wings,  so  that  when  the  efforts  of  her 
young  fail,  she  bears  them  on  her  own 
wings  to  a  place  of  shelter  and  safety. 


Bj  this  means  they  are  taught  to  fly  and 
provide  for  themselves. 

It  would  seem  harsh  and  unreason- 
able to  the  young  eaglets,  were  they 
capable  of  reasoning  on  the  subject,  to 
see  their  parent  tearing  to  pieces  the 
comfortable  home  in  which  they  had 
so  long  nestled  in  quiet  and  security. 
They  might  ask.  What  wrong  have  wo 
been  guilty  that  we  thus  shotild  be 
broken  up  and  cast  out  upon  the  cold 
world?  The  conduct  of  their  parent 
would,  at  least,  be  unaccountable;  they 
might   even   charge  her  with   cruelty, 


CHEISTIAN     SIMILITUDES, 


43 


and  loudly  murmur  and  complain  at  what 
appeared  a  great  misfortune.  Could  they  dis- 
cover the  reason,  they  would  see  that  love  for 
them  was  the  true  cause  of  it  all. 

In  this  trait  of  the  eagle  with  regard  to  her 
young,  we  have  an  apt  similitude  of  many  oc- 
currences which  have  taken  place  among  com- 
munities of  mankind.  The  land  of  Canaan 
was  promised  to  the  descendants  of  Abraham, 
and  by  this  they  were  entitled  to  its  posses- 
sion. However,  daring  a  time  of  famine,  they 
emigrated  to  Egyj)t,  where  many  favors  and 
privileges  were  allotted  to  them.  A  genera- 
tion was  born  there,  and  their  homes  seemed 
secure.  When  the  time  had  nearly  arrived 
that  the  Israelites  should  take  possession  of 
the  Promised  Land,  the  Egyptians  were  stirred 
up  against  them,  and  made  their  lives  bitter 
with  bondage.  Fi,nally,  by  a  train  of  provi- 
dential events,  they  were  brought  into  the 
land  promised  to  their  fathers. 

At  the  commencement  of  Christianity,  most 
of  the  followers  of  Christ  had  collected  at  Je- 
rusalem, wiiere  they  were  greatly  prospered, 
and  were  so  happy  in  the  love  and  fellowship 
with  each  other,  that  they  seemed  inclined  to 
build  their  tabernacles  at  Jerusalem,  exclaim- 
ing, in  their  joy,  "/<  is  good  for  us  to  he  here.'^ 
They  desired  and  expected  to  continue  there 
during  their  lives.  But  in  mercy  to  otliers, 
and  to  themselves,  whose  truest  happiness  was 
connected  with  their  usefulness,  a  great  perse- 
cution arose  at  the  time  of  the  death  of  Ste- 
phen, and  the  disciples  were  "scattered  abroad, 
and  went  every-where  preaching  the  word." 
The  cause  of  Christianity  was  thus  wonder- 
fully advanced,  and  Christian  churches  estab- 
lished in  almost  every  part  of  the  known  world. 

Paul,  the  learned  apostle  to  the  Gentiles, 
being  better  qualified  than  his  brethren  to 
ppeak  before  kings  and  emperors,  was  driven 
by  persecution  away  from  his  countrymen,  to 
appear  before  the  Roman  emperor,  by  which 
the  Gospel  was  introduced  into  the  palace  of 
the  Ca?sar.s.  Persecution  followed  the  other 
apostles;  they  found  no  resting-place  where 
they  could  abide  in  peace  and  safety  ;  every  new 
abode  was  in  turn  stirred  up,  and  they  had  to 
Hee  from  one  city  to  another. 

In  modern  times,  the  history  of  the  Puritans 
furnishes  a  remarkable  instance  of  the  truth 


of  the  similitude  of  the  eagle  stirring  up  her 
nest  for  the  benefit  of  her  young.  After  the 
bloody  persecutions  of  Queen  Mary,  the  Prot- 
estant religion  gained  the  ascendency  in  Great 
Britain,  wlien,  in  the  year  lo58,  Queen  Eliza- 
beth of  England  ascended  the  throne,  to  the 
joy  of  all  her  Protestant  subjects.  Many  of 
tliese  were  Puritans,  so  called  from. their  etibrta 
to  maintain  purity  of  worship,  untrammeled 
by  those  rites  and  forms  which  they  thought 
contrary  to  the  spirit  of  true  religion.  The 
Puritans  felt  certain  of  her  protection,  and  ex- 
pected to  pass  the  remainder  of  their  lives  in 
tranquillity. 

But  they  soon  heard  a  voice,  saying,  "  Arise, 
this  is  not  your  rest."  Queen  Elizabeth, 
though  a  Protestant,  and  in  favor  of  the 
reformation,  was  of  an  arbitrary  disposition. 
She  took  violent  measures  to  enforce  uni- 
formity in  cluirch  discipline  and  service.  The 
Puritans,  while  holding  to  the  same  doctrines 
as  the  established  church,  had  scruples  about 
practicing  all  Us  rites  and  ceremonies,  and 
therefore  refused  compliance. 

A  storm  of  persecution  arose;  their  rest  or 
place  of  al)ode  became  stirred  up.  They  were 
subjected  to  severe  penalties,  and  compelled  to 
collect  for  worship  in  private  places  with  great 
secrecy.  Hundreds  of  Puritan  ministers  were 
deprived  of  their  livings  and  silenced,  and 
others  imprisoned,  while  their  families  were 
starving.  These  persecutions  were  continued 
with  but  little  abatement  for  about  fifty  years. 
The  Puritans  made  many  ettorts  to  obtain 
toleration,  but  the  queen  and  most  of  the 
bishops  refused. 

In  consequence  of  these  persecutions,  many 
of  the  Puritans  left  their  native  country, 
passed  over  to  Holland,  and  formed  distinct 
and  independent  churches;  but  not  liking 
their  situation  there,  most  of  them  emigrated 
to  America.  The  stirring  up  and  unpleasant- 
ness of  tiie  place  of  their  abode,  caused  the 
emigration  to  and  founding  of  the  colony  of 
Plymouth,  in  1620.  These  colonists,  in  order 
to  obtain  "freedom  to  worship  God,"  were 
thrown  upon  their  own  exertions.  like  the 
young  of  the  eagle;  they  sought  another  iiab- 
itation  ;  they  went  into  a  savage  and  howling 
wilderness,  and  there,  deep  and  wi  le,  laid  the 
foundations  of  civil  and  religious  liberty. 


44 


CIIEISTIAN    SIMILITUDES. 


1  COEIISTTH'NS, 
Chap,  ii: 
verse  14. 


EOMANS, 

Chap,  viii: 

verse  5. 


GALATIANS, 

Chap,  v: 
vci-ses  19-21. 


1  JOHN", 
Chap,  ii : 
verse  16. 


EOMAXS, 

Chap,  viii: 

verse  8. 


1  JOB.:^, 

Chap,  iii: 

verse  8. 


ECCLESIASrS, 
Chap,  ix: 
verse  3. 


GENESIS, 

Chap,  vi: 

verse  5. 


THE  NATURAL  MAN. 

TVie  man  tvho  serves  sin  with  a  willing  mind,  and  suffers  Satan 
to  reign  over  him. 


■Look  on  this  picture  of  the  natural  heart, 
Behold  the  Holy  Spirit's  dove  depart; 
The  guardian  anjjel  weeping  o'er  the  soul 
Despising  all  advice  and  Heaven's  control. 
Deceit  within  his  bosom  holds  its  sway, 


And  Pride  rejoices  in  her  vain  display, 
While  Anger  growls:    Intemperance  is  seen. 
And  foul  Licentiousness  with  form  unclean, 
While  Satan  rules  above  with  dragon  wings, 
And  o'er  the  Scene  his  dark  delusion  flings. 


The  engraving  annexed  is  a  repre- 
sentation of  the  natural  or  carnal  man, 
in  a  willing  companionship  with  various 
lusts  and  vices  in  which  the  wicked  take 
delight.  The  figure  at  the  top  is  a,  rep- 
resentation of  Satan,  with  dragon  wings, 
the  fltllcn  Spirit  of  Light,  who  rules  over 
fallen  men  and  devils.  The  Holy  Spirit 
J8  departing  from  him,  represented  by  a 


dove,  who  is  flying  away.  The  Guardian 
Angel,  or  ministei-ing  spirit,  is  Aveeping 
at  his  folly  in  refusing  to  hear  the  voice 
of  entreaty  and  wisdom.  Deceit  is  found 
in  his  bosom.  Fride  spreads  out  her 
shining  feathers;  ^/ij/er  growls,  and  Li- 
centiousness  and  Intemperance  show  their 
unclean  forms  by  his  side. 

It  is  thought" by  many  divines,  from 


CHEISTIAX     SIMILITUDES, 


43 


the  tenor  of  several  passages  in  the 
Bible,  that  pride  or  self-conceit  was  the 
cause  of  the  Devil's  downfall  from 
licaven.  Pride,  in  all  its  numerous 
forms,  in  every  ago  and  country,  has  al- 
ways been  found  congenial  to  the  fallen 
nature  of  man.  The  peacock,  which  ap- 
pears to  take  so  much  pleasure  in  spread- 
ing out  and  displaying  his  beautiful 
feathers,  is  generally  held  up  as  an  em- 
blem of  those  who  take  pride  on  account 
of  their  riches,  honors,  beautiful  form 
or  features,  of  their  gifts  and  talents,  or 
of  their  fine  dress,  equij^age,  etc.  And 
to  such  an  extent,  and  in  so  many  forms, 
has  this  accursed  passion  prevailed,  that 
even  many  have  been  proud  of  their 
humility. 

No  passion  steals  into  the  heart  so  im- 
perceptibly, none  covers  itself  under  more 
disguises,  or  to  which  mankind  in  general 
are  more  subject  to,  than  to  Pride.  It  is 
originally  founded  on  self-love,  that  in- 
herent passion  of  human  nature.  The 
few  advantages  we  possess  want  only  to 
be  properly  considered  to  convince  us 
how  little  they  are  to  be  boasted  of,  or 
gloried  in.  The  whole  of  our  bodily 
perfections  may  bo  summed  up  in  two 
words — strength  and  beaut}'.  As  for 
the  first,  man  is  inferior  to  many  of  the 
brute  ci'eation.  Besides,  through  a  few 
days  or  even  hours  of  sickness,  he  becomes 
weak  and  helpless  as  a  little  child.  As 
to  beauty,  which  has  exhausted  human 
wit  in  raptures  to  its  praise,  how  soon  it 
is  destroyed  by  sickness  or  ago;  and 
even  in  its  perfection,  how  it  is  excelled 
by  the  flowei's  of  the  field !  Often  to  its 
possessor  it  has  been  a  fatal  ornament, 
ruining  both  soul  and  body. 

"Pride,"  says  a  good  writer,  "is  the 
'high  opinion  that  a  poor  little  contracted 
soul  entertains  of  itself,  and  is  mani- 
fested by  praising  ourselves,  adorning 
our  persons,  attempting  to  aj^pear  before 
others  in  a  superior  light  to  what  we 
arc;  contempt  and  slander  of  others; 
envy  at  the  excellencies  that  others  pos- 
sess; anxiety  to  gain  applause;  distress 


and  rage  when  slighted;  impatience  of 
contradiction  and  op2)osition  to  God  him- 
self The  evil  effects  of  pride  are  be- 
yond computation.  It  has  spread  itself 
universally  among  all  nations,  among 
all  characters;  and  as  it  is  the  first  sin, 
as  some  suppose,  that  entered  into  the 
world,  so  it  seems  the  last  to  be  con- 
quered. It  may  be  considered  as  the 
parent  of  discontent,  ingratitude,  cov- 
etousness,  poverty,  presum2:)tion,  passion, 
extravagance,  bigotry,  war,  and  perse- 
cution. In  fact  there  is  hardly  an  evil 
perpetrated  but  what  pride  is  connected 
with  it  in  a  proximate  or  remote  sense." 

Anger  and  Ill-iciU  are  represented  by  a 
growling  wild  beast,  such  as  a  lion,  tiger, 
or  leopard,  at  the  left  of  the  picture.  It 
is  the  fiercest  of  passions,  and  under  its 
influence  man  rages  like  a  wild,  ferocious; 
beast.  The  claims  of  father,  mother, 
brother,  sister,  friend,  and  every  tender 
tie  of  humanity  for  the  time  are  lost;  it 
tempts  men  in  an  instant  to  commit  such 
enormities,  that  an  age  of  repentance 
can  not  atone  for  them. 

Anger  is  a  raging  fever  of  the  mind, 
a  si)ecies  of  madness  or  insanity.  In- 
deed they  ai'e  so  much  alike  that  some- 
times it  is  difficult  to  distinguish  the  dif- 
ference between  them,  their  effects  being 
equally  fatal.  It  is  so  teri'ible  that  it 
makes  human  beings  like  demons.  A 
passionate  temper  renders  a  man  unfit 
for  advice,  deprives  him,  in  a  great 
measure,  of  his  reason,  robs  him  of  all 
that  is  great  and  noble  in  his  nature, 
desti'oys  friendship,  changes  justice  into 
cruelty,  and  turns  order  into  confusion. 
It  is  stated  that  beasts  of  the  fiercer 
kind  are  enraged  when  they  behold  their 
own  imago  in  a  glass,  or  by  the  side  of 
still  water.  The  instinct  of  these  crea- 
tures im])els  them  at  once  to  attack  an 
animal  which  appears  so  detestable.  If 
angry  and  passionate  men  could  have  a 
full  and  just  view  of  themselves  in  all 
their  deformity,  they  would  hate,  and 
make  Avar  with  their  own  image. 

Deceit  is  often  represented  by  a  ser- 


4G 


CIITtlSTIAN     SIMILITUDES, 


pent,  as  Satan,  the  grand  enemy  of  God 
and  mankind,  assumed  that  form  when 
he  deceived  our  first  parents  in  the  Gar- 
den of  Eden.  In  the  engraving,  the 
serpent  is  shown  in  the  bosom  of  the 
iinregcnerate  man.  His  heart  is  defined 
in  Scripture  as  being  "deceitful  above 
all  things;"  that  is,  in  the  highest  de- 
gree above  all  that  we  can  conceive.  In 
fact  the  generality  of  mankind  are  con- 
tinually deceiving  themselves  and  others. 
How  strangely  do  they  this,  not  knowing 
either  their  own  tempers  or  characters; 
imagining  themselves  to  bo  far  wiser 
and  better  than  they  are. 

A  deviation  from  truth  is  equally 
natural  to  all  the  children  of  men.  One 
said,  in  his  haste,  "all  men  ai-e  liars," 
but  we  may  say,  upon  cool  reflection,  all 
natural  men  will,  upon  a  close  tempta- 
tion, vary  fi'om  or  disguise  the  truth. 
If  they  do  not  offend  against  veracity, 
if  they  do  not  say  what  is  directly  false, 
yet  they  often  oftend  against  simplicity. 
They  use  art,  they  hang  out  false  colors, 
they  practice  deceit  or  dissimulation. 

Licentiousness  is  represented  b}^  the 
goat,  an  unclean,  impure,  and  in  many 
respects  a  disagreeable  animal.  Intem- 
perance and  Gluttony  are  personated  by 
the  hog.  Both  of  these  are  shown  at 
the  right  hand  of  the  natural  unregen- 
erate  man,  both  are  his  chosen  compan- 
ions. By  these  vices  he  reduces  himself 
to  the  level  with  the  most  unclean  and 
filthy  of  the  animal  creation.  The  lib- 
ertine, the  sensualist,  the  licentious  man, 
is  one  of  the  vilest,  most  loathsome  of 
characters.  He  must  be  a  liar,  a  repro- 
bate, and,  in  short,  a  consummate  villain 
that  will  break  all  the  commands  of  God 
to  obtain  the  object  of  his  pursuit.  He 
does  not  rush  to  destruction  alone,  but 
like  his  great  original,  drags  others  along 
with  him  to  perdition.  The  Apostle,  in 
speaking  of  the  vice  of  licentiousness, 
says  it  is  a  sin  committed  against  the 


body.  Though  sin  of  every  species  has 
a  tendency  to  destroy  life,  yet  none  are 
so  mortal  as  that  to  which  the  Apostle 
refers,  as  it  strikes  directly  at  the  foun- 
dation of  the  constitution.  It  would  bo 
easy  to  show  that  licentiousness  and  in- 
temperance lead  directly,  even  with  re- 
spect to  the  body,  to  certain  death. 

With  regard  to  tlie  vice  of  intemperance  or 
drunkenness,  the  latter  part  of  the  2od  chapter 
of  Proverbs  contains  a  ibrcible  description  of  its 
effects.  The  writer  describes  liim  wlio  "tarries 
long  at  the  wine"  as  one  "  tliat  ]ieth  down  in 
the  midst  of  tlie  sea,  or  he  that  lieth  on  the  top 
of  a  mast."  That  is,  "thou  wih  sottishly  run 
tliyself  into  tlie  extremest  hazards  without 
any  apprehension  of  danger,  being  no  more 
able  to  direct  tliy  course  than  a  pilot  who 
slumbers  when  the  ship  is  tossed  in  tlie  midst 
of  the  sea,  no  more  able  to  take  notice  of  the 
perils  thou  art  in  than  he  who  falls  asleep 
wiiere  he  was  sent  to  keep  watch." 

Tlie  writer  of  the  book  of  Proverbs  goes  on 
in  his  description:  "They  have  stricken  me, 
slialt  thou  say,  and  I  was  not  sick;  they  have 
beaten  me,  and  I  felt  it  not.  When  shall  I 
awake?  1  will  seek  it  yet  again."  There  is 
great  beauty  and  energy  in  the  conciseness  of 
the  original.  What  is  rendered  "I  was  not 
sick,"  some  commentators  say  should  be  ren- 
dered "  I  was  not  sensible  of  it."  The  next 
clause  should  be,  "They  have  mocked  me,  and 
1  knew  it  not."  How  striking  and  instructive 
a  portrait  is  this  of  the  stupid  insensibility  of 
a  drunkard!  Mr.  Prior,  in  his  Solomon,  has 
well  expressed  it  in  the  Ibllowing  lines.  There 
are,  says  he, 

.  .  .  .  .  "yet  unnumbered  ills  that  lie  unseen 
In  the  pernicious  draught:   the  word  obscene 
Or  harsh  (which  once  elanced  must  ever  fly 
Irrevocable);  the  too  prompt  reply, 
Seed  of  severe  distrust  and  fierce  debate, 
What  we  would  shun,  and  what  we  ought  to  hate 
Add,  too,  the  blood  impoverished,  and  the  course 
Of  health  suppressed  by  wine's  continued  lorce. 
Unhappy  man  !  whom  sorrow  thus,  aud  rage, 
To  different  ills  alternately  engage  ! 
Who  drink,  alas!  but  to  forget,  nor  sees 
That  melancholy  sloth,  severe  disease, 
Memory  confused,  and  interrupted  thought, 
Death's  harbingers,  lie  latent  in  the  draught. 
And  in  thefloweis  that  wreathe  the  sparkling  bowl 
Fell  adders  hiss,  and  poisonous  serpents  roll." 


CHEISTIAN    SIMILITUDES. 


ROMANS, 

Chap,   iii: 
verse  20. 


PSALM 

li: 
verse  3. 


ACTS, 

Chap,  xvi 

verse  30. 


ROMANS, 
Chap,  vii: 
verse  24. 


THE  AWAKENED  SINNER. 


ROMANS, 

Chap,  vii: 
vei'se  9. 


LUKE, 

Chap,  xviii; 
verse  13. 


PSALM 

xli: 
verse  4. 


LUKE, 
Chap.  XV : 
verse  21. 


The  sinner  convicted  of  breaking  God's  law,  is  alarmed;  he  casts  off 
his  sins  and  endeacors  tojieefrom  the  wrath  to  come. 


The  sinner  wakened  to  his  state  of  sin, 
With  penitence  another  life  would  now  begin. 
Pride  lowers  her  plumage  and  would  fain  depart, 
Deceit  and  Anger  leave  the  contrite  heart, 
Licentiousness  dnd  all  its  kindred  train, 


Can  o'er  his  nature  no  longer  reign; 
Sulan  himself  must  his  vile  scepter  yield, 
And  vanquished  and  reluctant  leave  the  field. 
While  the  pure  spirit,  bringing  heavenly  love. 
Broods  o'er  the  penitent,  a  spotless  dove. 


The  sinner,  by  the  light  of  the  Divine 
Spirit,  sees  that  he  has  broken  all  the 
commandments  of  God;  the  angel  of 
justice  lifts  tlie  sword  against  him; 
alarmed,  he  leaves  off  his  connection 
with  various  sins,  and  they  arc  de- 
pai'ting  from  him.  Pride  lowers  her 
plumage;  Deceit  and  Anger  he  no  longer 
harbors;  Licentiousness,  Intemperance, 
and  other  vices  he  casts  off.  Thus  ex- 
ercising repentance,  the  sacred  influence 
of  the  Divine  Spirit  descends  upon  him, 


while  Satan,  the  Prince  of  Darkness, 
finding  he  can  no  longer  control  his 
mind,  is  departing  from  the  scene. 

By  some  providential  occurrence,  or 
by  his  word  applied  with  the  domoji- 
stration  of  his  spirit,  God  touches  the 
heart  of  him  who  is  passing  along,  se- 
cure in  his  sins,  unconcerned  as  to 
what  will  befall  him  in  a  future  world. 
Light  breaks  in  upon  his  mind,  and  the 
inward  spiritual  meaning  of  the  divine 
or  moral  law  of  God  begins  to  flash  upon 


48 


CHKISTIAN     SIMILITUDES. 


him.  He  perceives  that  "the  commandment 
is  exceeding  broad,"  and  that  "nothing  is  hid 
from  tlie  light  thereof "  He  is  convinced  tliat 
every  part  of  it  relates  not  barely  to  outward 
sin  or  obedience,  but  to  what  passes  in  the 
secret  recesses  of  tlie  heart,  which  no  eye  but 
God's  can  penetrate. 

Tlie  truly  convicted  sinner  not  only  hears 
"Thoushait  not  kill,"  according  to  the  letter 
of  the  law,  but  also  hears  God  speak  in  thun- 
der tones,  "  He  that  hateth  liis  brother  is  a 
murderer."  If  the  law  says,  "Thou  shalt  not 
comiiiit  adultery,"  the  voice  of  the  Lord 
sounds  in  his  ears,  "  He  that  looketh  upon  a 
woman  to  lust  after  her,  hath  committed 
adultery  with  her  already  in  his  heart."  And 
thus  at  every  point  he  feels  the  word  of  God 
"  quick  and  powerful,  sharper  than  a  two- 
edged  sword."  It  "  pierces  even  to  the  di- 
viding asunder  of  his  soul  and  spirit,  his  joints 
and  marrow."  And  so  much  the  more  be- 
cause he  is  conscious  to  himself  of  having 
neglected  so  great  salvation  ;  of  having  trod- 
den under  foot  the  Son  of  God,  who  would 
have  saved  him  from  his  sins,  and  counted 
the  blood  of  the  covenant  an  unholy,  a  com- 
mon unsanctifying  thing. 

As  the  convicted  sinner  knows  "all  things 
are  naked  and  open  to  the  eyes  of  Him  with 
whom  we  have  to  do,"  so  he  sees  himself  na- 
ked, stripped  of  the  fig-leaves  which  he  had 
sewed  together,  of  all  his  poor  pretences  to 
religion  and  virtue,  and  his  wretched  excuses 
for  sinning  against  God.  His  heart  is  laid 
bare,  and  he  sees  it  is  all  sin,  "deceitful  above 
all  things  and  desperately  wicked  ;"  he  feels 
that  he  is  corrupt  and  abominable;  that  he 
deserves  to  be  cast  oft"  from  God  forever;  that 
"  the  wag3S  of  sin  is  death." 

The  delusive  rest  and  fal.se  peace  of  the  sin- 
ner are  ended  by  the  proper  di.scovery  of  the 
broken  law.  Pleasures  once  loved  delight 
him  no  more.  He  feels  the  anguish  of  a 
w^ounded  spirit.  He  finds  that  sin  let  loose 
upon  the  soul,  (whether  it  be  pride,  anger,  or 
evil  desire;  whether  sell-will,  malice,  envy, 
revenge,  or  any  other,)  brings  misery. 

He  feels  sorrow  of  heart  tor  blessings  lie  has 
lost,  and  the  curse  which  has  come  upon  him; 
remorse  for  having  thus  destroyed  himself, 
and  despised  God's  mercies;  fear,  from  a  lively 
sense  of  the  wrath  of  God,  antl  the  conse- 
quences of  his  wrath,  of  the  punishment  which 
he  has  justly  deserved,  and  which  he  sees 
hanging  over  his  head;  fear  of  death,  as  being 
to  him  the  gate  of  death  eternal;  fear  of  the 
devil,  the  executioner  of  the  wrath  and  righte- 


ous vengeance  of  God;  fear  of  men,  who,  if 
they  were  able  to  kill  his  body,  would  thereby 
plunge  both  body  and  soul  into  hell;  fear, 
sometimes  arising  to  such  a  height  that  the 
poor  guilty  soul  is  terrified  with  every  thing, 
with  nothing,  with  shades,  with  a  leaf  shaken 
by  the  wind.  Sometimes  it  may  approach  to 
file  brink  of  despair,  causing  him  to  cry  out, 
like  one  of  old,  "  The  spirit  of  a  man  may 
sustain  his  infirmities,  but  a  wounded  spirit 
who  can  bear?" 

The  ordinary  method  of  the  spirit  of  God  is 
to  convict  sinners  by  the  law,  for  by  it  "is 
the  knowlodge  of  sin."  It  is  more  especially 
this  part  of  the  word  of  God  which  is  quick 
and  powerful,  full  of  life  and  energy,  "and 
sharper  than  any  two-edged  sword."  This  in 
the  hand  of  the  great  Jehovah,  and  of  his 
Messengers,  pierces  through  the  folds  of  a  de- 
ceitful heart,  and  "  divides  asunder  even  the 
soul  and  the  spirit."  By  this  the  sinner  is 
discovered  to  himself,  and  he  sees  that  he  is 
wretched,  and  poor,  and  miserable,  and  blind, 
and  naked.  The  law  which  he  has  broken 
flashes  conviction  on  every  side;  his  mouth  is 
stopped,  and  he  stands  guilty  before  God. 

The  sinner  who  is  properly  convicted  of  his 
transgressions,  forsakes,  or  endeavors  to  put 
away,  all  his  sinful  associations  and  compan- 
ions. Instead  of  pride  there  is  now  humility, 
lie  has  been  in  the  habit  of  thinking  much  of 
himself,  of  his  natural  or  acquired  abilities; 
his  sins,  or  rather  foibles  as  he  calls  them,  lie 
thinks  are  not  of  much  moment,  his  good 
deeds  far  overbalancing  them,  and  he  may  even 
scorn  to  ask  any  favors  either  of  God  oi  man. 
But  now,  in  the  light  of  the  divine  law,  he  sees 
that  he  is  a  wretch,  undone,  unless  God  has 
mercy  on  him;  and  instead  of  priding  himself 
on  account  of  his  good  deeds,  he  loathes  and 
abhors  himself,  on  account  of  his  sins,  in  dust 
and  ashes,  crying  out,  "God  be  merciful  to 
me  a  sinner." 

Formerly  deceit  nestled  in  his  bosom,  deceiv- 
ing himself  and  those  about  him,  thinking 
himself  to  be  something  when  lie  was  nothing, 
saying,  "peace,  peace,"  when  God  says  there  is 
no  peace.  This  serpent,  Error,  now  departs, 
while  the  light  of  the  Divine  Spirit  is  upon 
him.  Anger,  malice,  revenge,  and  other  hate- 
ful passions,  in  which  he  formerly  indulged,  he 
puts  from  him,  and  wishes  from  his  heart  that 
God  would  create  a  new  spirit  within — love  to 
his  fellow  men,  and  love  and  forgiveness  for 
his  enemies.  Intemperance,  licentiousness,  and 
other  beastly  vices  he  discards,  and  shuns  the 
very  appearance  of  evil. 


CIIEISTIAK    SIMILITUDES. 


49 


ISAIAH, 

Chap,  xliv: 
verse  22. 


JEHEMIAH, 

Chap,  xxxiii : 

verse  8. 


HEBREWS, 

Chap,   viii: 
verse  12. 


KOMAXS, 

Chap,  iv  : 
verses  7,  8. 


2  CORINTH'NS, 
Chap,  v: 
verso  18. 


MICAH, 

Chap,  vii: 
verse  18. 


LUKE, 
Chap.  XV : 
verse  20. 


1  JOHN, 
Chap,  ii : 
verse  12. 


THE  PARDONED  SINNER. 

Tlie  sinner  is  pardoned  h>j  the  blood  of  the  Cross. Faith,  Hope^ 

and  Peace  are  his  companions. The  influence  of  the  Divine 

Spirit  descends  upon  him. 


Behold  the  pardoneil  sinner  with  a  band 
Of  forms  angelic,  grouped  on  either  liand. 
Faith  clasps  the  cross,  and  to  the  brightening 

skies, 
Waiting  the  promise,  lifts  expectant  eyes. 
There,  smiling,  radiant  Hope  her  anchor  bears, 


And  Peace,  the  olive  branch,  her  emblem,  wears, 
While  o'er  ihem  softly  broods  the  Heavenly  Dove, 
Emblem  of  peace,  and  purity,  and  love. 
Faith,  Hope,  and  Love,  best  boons  to  mortals  given, 
To  brighten  earth,  and  smooth  the  path  to 
Heaven. 


The  sinner,  after  being  weighed  down 
by  a  sense  of  his  sins  and  transgressions, 
despairs  of  any  help  or  relief  excepting 
from  God.  He  hears  of  salvation  by 
Jesus  Christ.  Faith  springs  \jp  within 
that  God  will  pardon  and  deliver  him, 
if  he  will  forsake  his  sins.  Looking  at 
22 


the  cross  of  Christ,  his  soul  is  melted  in 
contrition ;  the  burden  of  sin  is  removed 
ho  feels  his  sins  are  forgiven;  the  hop^^ 
of  present  and  eternal  salvation  springs 
up  in  his  soul.  These  two  Christian 
graces  are  represented  in  the  engraving 
by  two  female  figures.    J^aith  stands  at 


50 


CIIRISTIAN     SIMILITUDES. 


the  right  hand  of  tho  pardoned  sinner, 
embracing    the    ci'oss,    with    her    eyes 
lifted  upward  ;  Hope,  with  her  anchor, 
is   at   his   left;    Peace,  with    her  olive- 
branch,  follows    her    heavenly  compan- 
ions Faith  and  Hope.    The  Dove,  an  em- 
blem of  the  Holy  Spirit,  is  seen  above. 
Dr.  Scott,  in  commenting  on  the  Pil- 
grim's Progress,  where   Christian  loses 
his  burden  when   he  came  up  with  the 
cross,    says:    ''Divine    illumination,    in 
many  respects,  tends  to  quicken  the  be- 
liever's hopes  and  fears,  and  to  increase 
his  earnestness  and  diligence;  but  noth- 
ing  can   finally   relieve   him    from    his 
burden  except  the  clear  discovery  of  the 
nature  and  glory  of  redemption.     With 
more  general  views  on  the  subject,  and 
an  implicit  reliance  on  the  mercy  of  God 
through  Jesus  Christ,  the  humblest  sin- 
ner enters  the  way  of  life.      ^     ^     ^ 
When  in  this  divine  light  the  soul  con- 
templates   the    Eedeemer's    cross,    and 
discerns  more  clearly  his  love  to  lost  sin- 
ners in  dying  for  them,  the  motive  and 
efiicacy  of  his    intense    sufferings,    the 
glory  of  the  divine  perfections  harmoni- 
ously displayed  in  this  surprising  expe- 
dient for  saving  the  lost,  the  honor  of  the 
divine  law  and  government,  and  the  evil 
and  desert  of  sin  most  emphatically  pro- 
claimed,  even   in   pardoning  transgres- 
sors  and    reconciling  enemies,   and  the 
perfect  freencss  and  efficacy  of  this  sal- 
vation, then  'his   conscience   is   purged 
from  dead  works  to  serve  the  living  God,' 
by   a   simple    reliance   on    the   atoning 
blood  of  Immanuel." 

The  plain  scriptural  notion  of  justifi- 
cation is  the  pardon  and  forgiveness  of 
the  sinner.  God  the  Father,  for  the  sake 
of  the  redemption  made  by  the  blood  of 
his  son,  ''showeth  forth  his  righteous- 
.ness  [or  mercy]  by  the  remission  of  sins 
■that  are  past."  Paul  declares,  ''Blessed 
are  they  whose  iniquities  are  forgiven, 
and  whose  sins  are  covered ;  blessed  is 
the  man  to  whom  the  Lord  will  not  im- 
pute sin."  To  him  who  is  foi'givcn,  God 
will  not  imjiute  sin  to  his  condemnation. 


He  will  not  condemn  him  on  that  ac- 
count, either  in  this  world  or  in  that 
which  is  to  come.  His  sins,  all  his  past 
sins,  in  thought,  word,  and  deed,  are 
covered,  are  blotted  out,  shall  not  be  re- 
membered or  mentioned  against  him. 
any  more  than  if  they  had  not  been. 
God  will  not  inflict  on  the  sinner  what 
he  deserved  to  suffer,  because  the  Son  of 
his  love  hath  suffered  for  him. 

Christian  faith,  through  which  the 
sinner  is  pardoned,  is  not  only  an  assent 
to  the  whole  gospel  of  Christ,  but  also  a 
full  reliance  on  the  blood  of  Christ — a 
trust  in  the  merits  of  his  life,  death,  and 
resurrection,  a  reliance  on  him  as  our 
atonement,  and  our  life  as  given  for  us 
and  living  in  us.  It  is  a  confidence 
which  a  man  hath  in  God  that,  through 
the  merits  of  Christ,  his  sins  are  for- 
given, and  he  reconciled  to  the  favor  of 
God.  The  best  guide  of  the  blind,  and 
the  surest  light  of  them  that  are  in  dark- 
ness, the  most  powerful  instructor  of  the 
foolish,  is  faith.  But  it  must  be  such  a 
faith  as  is  mighty  thi'ough  God  to  the 
pulling  down  of  strongholds,  "to  the 
overturning  all  the  i)rejudices  of  corrupt 
reason,  all  the  false  maxims  revered 
among  men,  all  evil  customs  and  habits, 
all  that  wisdom  of  the  world  which  is 
foolishness  with  God;  as  casting  down 
imaginations,  [reasonings,]  and  every 
high  thing  that  exalteth  itself  against 
the  knowledge  of  God,  and  bringeth 
into  captivity  every  thought  to  the 
obedience  of  Christ." 

Those  that  have  the  true  faith,  have 
strong  consolation  through  Hope.  The 
Spirit  bearcth  witness  in  their  hearts 
that  they  are  the  children  of  God.  It 
is  the  same  Spirit  who  works  in  them 
that  clear  and  cheerful  confidence  that 
their  heart  is  upright  toward  God ;  that 
good  assurance  that  they  now  do,  through 
his  gi'acc,  the  things  that  ai'e  acceptable 
in  his  sight;  that  they  are  now  in  the 
path  which  leadeth  to  life,  and  shall,  by 
the  mercy  of  God.  endure  therein  to  the 
end.     It  is  he  who  giveth  them  a  lively 


CHRISTIAN    SIMILITUDES. 


51 


expectation  of  receivinc;  all  good  things 
from  God,  a  joyous  prospect  of  that 
crown  of  glory  which  is  reserved  in 
heaven  for  them.  By  this  anchor,  a 
Christian  is  kept  steady  in  the  midst  of 
this  troublesome  world,  and  preserved 
from  striking  on  cither  of  those  fatal 
rocks  Presumption  or  Despair. 

"Every  one,"  saith  St.  John,  "who 
hath  this  hope,  purifieth  himself,  even 
as  ho  is  pure."  It  is  his  daily  care,  by 
the  grace  of  God  in  Christ,  and  through 
the  blood  of  the  covenant,  to  purge  the 
inmost  recesses  of  his  soul  from  the 
lusts  that  befoi-e  possessed  and  defiled  it; 
from  uncleanliness,  and  envy,  and  mal- 
ice, and  wrath  ;  from  every  passion  and 
temper  that  is  after  the  flesh,  that  either 
springs  from  or  cherishes  his  native  cor- 
ruption, as  well  knowing  that  he  whose 
very  body  is  the  temple  of  God  ought 
to  admit  nothing  into  it  common  or  un- 
clean, and  that  holiness  becometh  the 
house  forever  where  the  spirit  of  holi- 
ness designs  to  dwell. 

"  The  peace  of  God,"  which  God  can 
only  give,  and  the  world  can  not  take 
away;  the  peace  which  "passeth  all  un- 
derstanding," all  (barely)  rational  con- 
ception, being  a  supernatural  sensation, 
a  divine  taste  of  "the  poAvers  of  the 
world  to  come,"  such  as  the  natural 
world  knoweth  not,  how  wise  soever  in 
the  things  of  this  world;  nor  indeed  can 
he  know   it  in   his  present  state,  "  be- 


cause it  is  spiritually  discerned."  It  is 
a  peace  that  banishes  doubt,  all  painful 
uncertainty,  the  Spirit  of  God  bearing 
witness  with  the  spirit  of  a  Christian 
that  he  is  a  child  of  God.  And  it  van- 
quishes fear,  all  such  fear  as  has  tor- 
ment, the  fear  of  the  wrath  of  God,  the 
fear  of  hell,  the  fear  of  the  devil,  and, 
in  particular,  the  fear  of  death  ;  he  that 
hath  the  peace  of  God,  desireth  that  it 
were  the  will  of  God  "  to  depart  and  be 
with  Christ." 

Whenever  the  peace  of  God  is  fixed 
in  the  soul,  there  is  also  "joy  in  the 
Holy  Ghost."  Joy  wrought  in  the  heart 
by  the  Holy  Ghost,  by  the  ever-blessed 
Spirit  of  God.  He  that  worketh  in  us 
that  calm,  humble  rejoicing  in  God 
through  Jesus  Christ,  "by  whom  we 
now  have  received  the  atonement,"  the 
reconciliation  with  God  that  enables  us 
boldly  to  confirm  the  truth  of  the  Psalm- 
ist's declaration,  "Blessed  is  the  man 
[or  rather  happy]  whose  unrighteous- 
ness is  forgiven,  and  whose  sin  is  cov- 
ered." He  it  is  that  inspires  the  Chris- 
tian soul  with  that  ever-solid  joy  which 
arises  from  a  consideration  that  he  is  a 
child  of  God,  and  gives  him  to  "rejoice 
with  joy  unspeakable  in  the  hope  of  the 
glory  of  God  ; "  hope  both  of  the  glori- 
ous image  of  God,  which  is  in  part,  and 
shall  be  in  full,  "revealed  in  him,"  and 
of  that  crown  of  glory  that  shall  not 
fade  away,  reserved  in  heaven  for  him. 


CHRISTIAN     SIMILITUDES. 


2  PETER, 
Chap.  1 : 

verses  5,  6,  7. 


:Jv. 


1  CORINTHI'NS 

Chap,  i: 
verse  oO. 


1  THESS. 

Chap,  v: 
verse  23. 


I   COIUNTII'NS 
Chap,  i: 


1  JOHN, 

Cliap.   i : 
verse  7. 


JOHN, 

Chap,  xvii : 

verse  17. 


2  CORINTH'NS, 

Chap,  vii: 

verse  1. 


MATTHEW, 
Chap,  v: 
verse  48. 


THE  SANCTIFIED  CHRISTIAN. 

The  Christian  filled  with  the  influence  of  the  Spirit,  adds  to  his 
faith,  virtue,  etc.  Sins  of  various  Jcinds,  jyersonificd  by  unclean  ani- 
mals, lie  dead  at  his  feet. 


Beiiolt),  in  life  the  Christian  sanctified, 
Strengthened  by  faith,  by  fiery  trials  tried, 
lie  dreads  no  more  temptations  fearful  night, 
But  moves  at  liberty  in  God's  own  light; 
He  walks  with  Faith,  who,  with  her  heavenly  ray, 
Sustains  his  soul,  and  brightens  all  the  way; 


He  walks  with  knowledge;  Heavenly  wisdom  true 
Inspires  his  courage,  brings  his  foes  to  view. 
He  lives  with  Godliness  inspiring  fear, 
A  filial  fear  of  God,  and  love  sincere; 
Brotherly  kindness  unto  all  he  shows, 
And  charity,  forgiving  all  his  foes. 


The  sanctified  Christian  walks  at  lib- 
erty in  the  keeping  of  God's  command- 
ments. The  influence  of  the  Divine 
spirit  is  shed  abroad  upon  him,  and  he 
adds  to  his  faith,  virtue;  and  to  virtue, 
knowledge;  and  to  knowledge,  temjier- 


ance  ;  and  to  temperance,  patience  ;  and 
to  patience,  godliness;  and  to  god'i- 
ness,  brotherly  kindness;  and  to  bioth- 
erly  kindness,  charity.  Having  the 
love  of  Christ  within,  the  true  Chris- 
tian   overcomes    the    evil    passions    by 


CHEISTIAN    SIMILITUDES. 


53 


which  he  is  beset;  indeed  they  lie  dead 
at  his  feet. 

The  sanctified  Christian  has  that  Faith 
which  has  led  him  to  embrace  the  whole 
Gospel  of  Jesus  Christ,  and  has  that 
virtue,  or  courage  and  fortitude,  which 
enables  him  to  profess  Christ  before 
men,  even  in  times  of  fiery  persecution, 
and  at  the  hazard  of  life  itself.  He 
has  knowledge,  that  true  wisdom  by 
which  his  faith  is  increased  and  his 
courage  directed,  preserving  it  from  de- 
generating into  rashness.  The  knowl- 
edge or  wisdom  he  receives  immedi- 
ately from  above,  in  answer  to  prayer; 
for  if  he  lacks  wisdom,  God  has  prom- 
ised to  give  it  to  him.  The  Christian 
is  temperate  in  all  things,  and  makes 
a  proper  and  limited  use  of  all  earthly 
enjoyments,  keeping  every  sense  under 
proper  restraint,  and  never  suffering 
the  animal  part  to  subjugate  the  ra- 
tional; he  bears  all  trials  and  difficul- 
ties with  an  even  mind,  enduring  in  all, 
and  persevering  through  all. 

The  true  Christian  has  godliness,  or 
piety  toward  God,  a"  deep  reverential 
fear,  not  only  worshiping  God  with 
tivery  becoming  outward  act,  but  ador- 
ing, loving,  and  magnifying  him  in  the 
heart,  worshiping  him  in  spirit  and 
truth.  lie  feels  a  spirit  of  love  toward 
his  fellow-men,  especially  a  spirit  of 
brotherly  kindness  to  all  of  Christ's 
flock,  of  whatever  name,  feeling  a  spirit 
of  union  as  a  member  of  the  same  heav- 
enly family.  He  has  charity,  love  to 
the  whole  human  race,  even  to  perse- 
cutors. True  religion  is  neither  selfish 
nor  insulated;  it  rejoices  with  those 
that  rejoice,  and  weeps  with  those  that 
weep.  Possessed  of  these  graces,  the 
Christian  is  rendered  active  in  all 
Christian  duties,  and  is  faithful  in  every 
good  word  and  work. 

"But  he  that  lacketh  these  things," 
says  the  Apostle,  "is  blind  and  can  not 
see  afar  off,  and  hath  forgotten  that  he 
was  ])urged  from  his  sins."  "He, 
whether  Jew  or  Gentile,"  says  u  cele- 


brated commentator,  "  who  professes  to 
have  faith  in  God,  and  has  not  added  to 
that  faith  fortitude,  knowledge,  tem- 
perance, patience,  godliness,  brotherly 
kindness,  and  universal  love,  is  blind; 
his  understanding  is  darkened,  and  can 
not  see  afar  off,  ....  shutting  his  eyes 
against  the  light,  winking,  not  able  to 
look  truth  in  the  face,  nor  to  behold 
that  God  whom  he  once  knew  was  re- 
conciled to  him;  and  thus  it  appears 
that  he  is  wilfully  blind  and  hath  for- 
gotten he  was  purged  from  his  old  sins; 
has,  at  last,  through  his  non-improve- 
ment of  the  grace  he  has  received  from 
God,  his  faith  ceasing  to  work  by  love, 
lost  the  evidence  of  things  not  seen, 
for,  having  grieved  the  Holy  Spirit  by 
not  showing  forth  the  virtues  of  him 
who  called  him  into  his  marvelous 
light,  ....  darkness  and  hardness 
having  taken  the  place  of  light  and 
filial  confidence;  he  calls  his  former 
experience  into  doubt,  and  questions 
whether  he  has  not  put  enthusiasm  in 
the  place  of  religion.  By  these  means 
his  hardness  and  darkness  increase,  his 
memory  becomes  indistinct  and  con- 
fused, until,  at  length,  he  forgets  the 
work  of  God  on  his  soul ! 

The  Apostle  exhorts  his  brethren  to 
"give  diligence  to  make  your  calling 
and  election  sure;  for  if  ye  do  these 
things  ye  shall  never  fail."  By  which 
it  appears  that  if  the  Christian  is  care- 
ful and  diligent  to  work  out  his  salva- 
tion by  adding  to  his  faith,  virtue,  etc., 
he  will  never  stumble  or  fall.  "He 
who  does  not,  by  good  works,  confirm 
his  calling  and  election,  will  soon  have 
neither;  although  no  good  works  ever 
did  purchase,  or  ever  can  purchase  the 
kingdom  of  God,  yet  no  soul  can  expect 
to  see  God  who  has  them  not.  But  if 
you  give  diligence,  and  do  not  fall,  an 
abundant,  free,  honorable,  and  trium- 
phant entrance  shall  be  ministered  into 
the  everlasting  kingdom  of  our  Lord 
and  Savior  Jesus  Christ. 

"Sanctification,  that  work  of  God'a 


54 


culusTIA:^^   similit  un  r:s, 


grace  by  which  we  are  renewed  after 
the  image  of  God,  is  set  apart  for  his 
service,  and  enables  us  to  die  unto  sin 
and  live  unto  righteousness;  it  must  be 
carefiilly  considered  in  a  twofold  light: 
1.  As  an  inestimable  privilege  granted 
us  from  God;  and,  2d,  as  an  all  compre- 
hensive duty  required  of  us  by  his  holy 
Word.  It  is  distinguished  from  justifi- 
cation thus:  Justification  changeth  our 
state  in  law  before  God  as  a  judge; 
sanctification  changeth  our  heart  and 
life  before  him  as  our  Father;  justifica- 
tion precedes,  and  sanctification  follows 
as  the  fruit  and  evidence  of  it." 

Justification  removes  the  guilt  of 
sin ;  sanctification  conforms  us  to  his 
image.  Sanctification  is  a  divine  and 
progressive  work.  It  is  an  internal 
work,  not  consisting  in  external  profes- 
sion or  bare  morality;  it  is  a  necessary 
work  as  to  the  evidence  of  our  state,  the 
honor  of  our  characters,  the  usefulness 
of  our  lives,  the  happiness  of  our  minds, 
and  the  enjoyment  of  God's  presence 
in  a  future  world.  The  sanctified  Chris- 
tian has  a  hoi}' reverence,  earnest  regard, 
and  patient  submission  to  the  Avill  of 
God.  Hence,  Archbishop  Usher  said 
of  it,  "Sanctification  is  nothing  less 
than  for  a  man  to  be  brought  to  an  en- 
tire resignation  to  his  will,  to  the  will 
of  God,  and  to  live  in  the  offering  up 
of  his  soul  continually  in  the  flames  of 
love  and  as  a  whole  burnt  offering  to 
Christ." 

The  doctrine  of  sanctification,  or 
Christian  perfection,  has  been  a  subject 
of  some  controversy  in  the  Christian 
world,  some  asserting,  others  den^'ing 
it;  much  of  it,  however,  has  been  a 
controversy  about  Avords.  Mr.  Wesley, 
perhaps  one  of  the  strongest  advocates 
of  Christian  sanctification,  or  perfection, 
says,  in  his  sermon  on  Perfection,  when 
speaking  of  the  perfection  of  angels, 
"It  is  not  possible  for  man,  whoso  un- 
derstanding is  darkened,  to  whom  mis- 
take is  natural   as   ignorance,  who  can 


not  think  at  all,  but  by  the  mediation 
of  organs  which  are  weakened  and  de- 
praved, to  apprehend  things  distinctly, 
and  to  judge  truly  of  them.  .  .  .  Incon- 
sequence hereof,  his  aftections,  depend- 
ing on  his  understanding,  are  variously 

disordered It    follows    that    no 

man,  while  in  the  body,  can  possibly 
attain  to  angelic  perfection. 

"Neither  can  any  man,  while  lie  is  in  a  cor- 
ruptible body,  attain  to  Adamic  perfection. 
Adam,  before  his  fall,  was  nndonbtedly  as  pure, 
as  free  from  sin,  as  ever  the  lioly  angels.  Ir\ 
like  manner  his  understanding  was  as  clear  aii 

theirs,  and  his  afi'ections  as  regular 

But  since  man   rebelled  against  his  God,   the 

case  is  widely   different The  highest 

perfection  which  man  can  attain  while  the  soul 
dwells  in  the  l)ody  does  not  exclude  ignorance 
and  erroi",  and  a  thousand  other  intirmities. 
A  thousand  intirmities  will  attend  my  spirit, 
till  it  returns  to  God  who  gave  it.  And,  in 
numberless  instances,  it  comes  short  of  doini; 
the  will  of  God,  as  Adam  did  in  Paradise; 
hence  the  best  of  men  mav  say  from  the  heart 

'  Every  moment.  Lord.  I  need 
The  merit  o'"  thy  death.' 

for  the  innumerable  violations  of  the  Adamif, 
as  well  as  the  angelic  law.  .  .  .  Love  is  [now] 
the  fulfilling  of  the  law  which  is  given  to  fallen 
man.  This  is  now,  with  respect  to  us,  the  per- 
fect law.  But  even  against  through  the  pres- 
ent weakness  of  our  understanding,  we  are 
continually  liable  to  transgress.  Therefore 
every  man  living  needs  the  blood  of  the  atonC' 
ment,  or  he  could  not  stand  before  God." 

The  Apostle  Paul  may  be  considered  as  an 
eminent  example  of  a  sanctified  Chri.'^tian.  As 
far  as  we  can  discover,  lie  appears  to  liave 
done  his  whole  duty  after  liis  conversion.  Near 
the  close  of  his  lile,  lie  says,  "  I  have  fought  a 
good  fight,  I  have  finished  my  course,  I  have 
kejit  my  faith;"  as  if  he  had  said,  in  allusion 
to  the  Grecian  games,  I  have  struggled  hard, 
and  have  overcome;  I  have  started  for  the 
prize,  and  have  come  up  to  goal,  outstripping 
all  my  competitors  and  have  gained  the  prize. 
I  have  kept  the  rules  of  the  spiritual  combat 
and  race,  and  thus,  having  contended  lawfully 
and  conquered  in  each  exercise,  I  expect  the 
prize.  All  these  assertions  of  St.  Paul  we  are 
bound  to  believe  ai-e  strictly  true. 


CHEISTIAN     SIMILITUDES. 


i)D 


GENESIS, 
Ciiup.  i : 
verse  3. 


psalm: 

xxvii: 
verse  1. 

PROVERBS, 
Chap,  iv : 
verse  IS. 


JOHN, 

Chap,  i : 
verse  9 


PROVERBS, 
Chap,  iv: 
verse  ID. 


JOIIX, 
Chr.p.  iii: 
verse  ID. 


JOHN, 
Chap,  xil; 
verse  Cj. 


JEREMIAH, 

Chap,  xiii: 
verse  KJ. 


SUNLIGHT  AND  DARKNESS. 

.    .    .     Walketh  in  darkness  and  knowcth    vot   v'htllicr   he    r/oeth. 

1  John  XI:  11. Lead   me  to  the  Rock  that  is  hiyher  than  L 

Ps.  LXi :  2. In  thy  light  shall  we  see  light.     Ps.  xxxvi :  9. 


See  the  two  travelers,  above,  below; 

One  safely  walks  in  sunlight's  radiant  glow; 

lie  mounts  I  lie  upland  path,  and  brightly  rise 

New  scones  of  b^^auty  to  his  raptured  eyes. 

Fair  cities,  vilbigos,  and  smiling  fields 

With  flocks  and  hards,  the  glowing  landscape 

yields, 
And  onward  still,  through  light  he  takes  his 

way 


To  the  broad  sunshine  of  eternal  day. 
While  lie  who  walks  below,  nor  seeks  the  light, 
Dwells  in  the  gloom  and  shadows  of  tlie  night, 
With  fogs  above,  and  pitfalls  sunk  around, 
He  gropes  along  o'er  sloughs  and  miry  ground. 
Heeds  not  the  call  that  bids  him  seek  the  way 
That  leads  to  sunlight  and  eternal  day; 
Where  walk  God's  children,  living  in  the  light, 
But  blind  and  willful,  perishes  in  night. 


Here  arc  two  travelers,  one  standing 
on  elevated  ground,  the  other  in  the 
marsh  or  swamp  below.  The  first  is  in 
the  sunlight,  by  which  he  beln^lds  the 
fair  face  of  nature  rejoicing  cvery-where 
in  the  bright  beams  of  day.  He  has 
just  emerged  from  a  dark  and  lonesome 


valley,  and  is  filled  Avith  delight  as  ho 
views  the  prospect  before  him.  In  one 
direction  lie  beholds  a  s])lendid  city  ;  on 
the  other,  beautiful  villages,  the  flocks 
and  herds  dotting  the  landscape,  with 
the  green  forest,  the  waving  fields  of 
grass  and  flowers.     Below   is  seen   tho 


56 


CHEISTIAN    SIMILITUDES, 


other,  inclosed  in  a  fog  or  cloud  so  dense 
that  the  sunlight  is,  in  a  great  measui'O, 
excluded.  Ho  wanders  about  in  the 
midst  of  bogs  and  miry  swamps,  bewil- 
dered, and  knowing  not  in  what  direc- 
tion he  is  going. 

The  same  sun  shines  above  both,  but 
the  latter  chooses  to  pursue  his  own  way 
in  the  low  grounds,  which  he  has  tra- 
versed ever  since  his  first  recollection. 
He  has  been  invited  to  take  another 
course,  and  travel  up  into  the  highlands, 
where  he  can  find  a  better  country, 
where  the  light  of  the  sun  is  not  ob- 
scured, and  where  he  will  find  firm  and 
steady  footing.  He  turns  a  deaf  ear  to 
all  advice  and  entreaty ;  he  pursues  his 
chosen  way,  he  wanders  and  stumbles 
amid  bogs  and  miry  places,  and  finding 
no  sure  footing,  finally  perishes  in  dark- 
ness, amid  the  stagnant  waters. 

The  sunlight  may  represent  the  light 
of  God's  truth,  and  the  sun,  Deity  itself. 
"  Grod  is  Light,"  says  an  inspired  writer, 
'and  in  him  is  no  darkness  at  all."  He 
is  the  source  of  all  knowledge,  wisdom, 
lioliness,  and  happiness,  and  having  no 
darkness  he  has  no  ignorance,  no  imper- 
fection, no  sinfulness,  no  misery.  Light 
is  the  purest,  the  subtile,  the  most  useful, 
the  most  diffuse  of  all  God's  creatures, 
and  is,  therefore,  a  good  emblem  of  the 
truth,  perfection,  purity,  and  goodness 
of  the  Divine  Being. 

''God  is  to  the  human  soul,"  says  a 
celebrated  writer,  '"what  the  sun  is  to 
the  natural  Avorld,  Avithout  which,  ter- 
ror and  death  would  prevail."  Without 
an  indwelling  God,  what  is  religion? 
Without  his  all-penetrating  and  diffusive 
light,  what  is  the  soul  of  man?  Ee- 
ligion  would  be  an  empty  science,  a  dead 
letter,  a  system  unauthorized  and  unin- 
fluencing,  and  the  soul  a  trackless  wil- 
dci'ness,  a  howling  waste,  full  of  evil,  of 
terror,  and  dismay,  and  ever  racked  with 
realizing  anticipations  of  future  success- 
ive and  permanent  misery. 

The  soul  that  lives  and  moves  in  the 
light  of  God's  countenance  is  truly  in  an 


elevated  position.  While  others  are 
groveling  in  the  darkness  of  sin  and 
error,  he  looks  upward  and  around  him; 
his  vision  is  extended ;  he  beholds  the 
goodness  of  God  about  him.  By  an  cyo 
of  faith  he  sees  the  New  Jerusalem,  the 
City  of  God,  the  fair  fields  of  Paradise, 
the  Tree  of  Life,  whose  leaves  are  for 
the  healing  of  the  nations,  and  the  man-' 
sions  of  the  blessed. 

Darkness  is  the  absence  of  light,  and 
may  well  signify  ignorance,  sin,  and 
misery.  Even  the  heathen,  who  are 
without  the  written  revelation  of  God, 
assign  to  the  wicked  after  death  a  re- 
gion of  darkness,  in  which  they  roam 
about  unhappy  forever,  while  the  right- 
eous live  and  move  in  the  bright  sun- 
shine of  an  eternal  day.  It  is  stated 
that  the  Avicked  love  darkness  because 
their  deeds  are  evil,  like  the  beasts  of 
prey  who  hate  the  sunlight,  but  when 
the  shades  of  night  appear,  creep  forth 
from  their  dens  to  ravage  and  destroy. 

"Happy  for  the  world,"  says  an  ele- 
gant writer,  "  were  these  the  only  des- 
troyers that  Avalk  in  darkness.  But,  alas ! 
there  are  savages  in  human  shape,  who, 
muffled  in  shades,  infest  the  abodes  of 
civilized  life.  The  sons  of  violence  make 
choice  of  this  season  to  perpetrate  the 
most  outrageous  acts  of  wrong  and  rob- 
bery. The  adulterer  waithcth  for  twi- 
light, and  baser  than  the  villain  on  the 
highway,  betra^^s  the  honor  of  his  bosom 
friend.  Now  faction  forms  her  close 
cabals,  and  whispers  her  traitorous  in- 
sinuations. Now  rebellion  plants  the 
accursed  plots,  and  prepares  the  train  to 
blow  the  nation  to  ruin.  Now,  crimer 
which  hide  their  odious  heads  in  the 
day  haunt  the  seats  of  society,  and  stalk 
through  the  gloom  with  audacious  fi'ont." 
Now  the  wretched  creatures  who  infest 
our  populous  places  crawl  from  their 
lurking  places  to  wallow  in  sin,  and 
spread  contagion  and  death  during  the 
shades  of  darkness. 

He  that  walks  in  the  darkness  of  sin 
knoweth  not  whithei  he  gocth,  for  that 


CHEISTIAN    SIMILITUDES, 


67 


darkness  hath  blinded  his  eyes.  Being 
in  the  quagmire,  even  that  which  seems 
firm  eai'th  trembles  beneath  him.  lie  is 
deceived  when  about  to  put  his  foot  on 
what  appears  a  firm  foundation  ;  it  sinks 
beneath  his  feet;  he  gets  deeper  in  the 
mii*e,  and,  unless  God  interposes,  ho  will 
sink  to  rise  no  more. 

Almost  all  forms  of  false  religion  thrive 
most  when  enveloped  in  darlcness  and 
obscurity.  The  mysteries  or  the  secret 
rites  of  the  pagan  religion  were  care- 
fully concealed  from  the  knowledge  of 
the  Vulgar  or  common  jjeople.  They 
are  supposed  to  have  originated  in 
Egypt,  perhaps  the  oldest  country  in 
the  world,  and  the  native  land  of  idola- 
try. In  this  nation  their  kings  were  en- 
grafted into  the  jn-iesthood,  a  body  of 
men  who  ruled  predominant.  They 
possessed  a  third  part  of  tlie  land  of 
Egypt.  The  sacerdotal  office  was  con- 
fined to  one  tribe,  and  was  transmitted 
from  father  to  son.  All  the  orientals, 
but  especially  the  Egyptians,  delighted 
in  dark  and  allegorical  doctrines,  every 
maxim  of  morality,  every  tenet  of  the- 
ology and  philosophy  was  wrapt  up  in 
a  veil  of  darkness  and  obscurity. 

The  religion  of  the  ancient  Europeans 
was  that  of  Druidism.  Their  priests, 
who  were  called  Druids^  had  the  greatest 
influence  over  the  minds  of  the  people. 
They  had  no  temples,  but  tliey  wor- 
shiped their  gods  in  the  same  dark  con- 
secrated  grove  in  which   the   common 


people  w^ei-e  not  allowed  to  enter.  Their 
chief  sacrifices  were  human  victims,  sup- 
posed to  have  been  prisoners  of  war. 

In  more  modern  times  the  leaders  of 
a  certain  system  of  faith  have  mostly 
chosen  to  conceal  many  of  their  move- 
ments amid  clouds  of  obscurity  and 
darkness.  A  new  revelation,  or  supe- 
rior light,  is  now  given,  if  we  are  to 
credit  their  testimony,  by  communica- 
tions direct  from  the  spiritual  world. 
But  to  receive  them  we  must  enter  into 
literal  darkness,  and  by  listening  to  fee- 
ble rappings,  spell  out  truth. 

How  different  from  all  these  clouds 
and  mists  of  obscurity  and  darkness  is 
the  sunlight  of  God's  truth.  All,  as  far 
as  can  be,  is  open  and  plain ;  no  conceal- 
ment nor  disguise.  It  commends  itself 
to  the  conscience  of  every  one  in  the 
sight  of  God.  It  lights  up  this  dark 
world ;  tlie  dark  shadowy  gloom  of  nighi 
is  dispelled,  the  terror  of  death  is  taken 
away,  a  prospect  of  a  bright  future  is 
opened  before  him,  and  he  may  say,  with 
the  poet, 

"And  darkness  and  doubt  are  now  flying  away 

No  longer  I  roam  in  conjecture  lorlorn  ; 

So  breaks  on  the  traveler,  faint  and  astray, 

The  bright  and  bahny  efiulgence  of  morn. 
See  trutli,  love,  and  mercy,  in  triumph  de- 
scending, 
And  nature  all  glowing  in  Eden's  fair  bloom  1 
On  the  cold  cheek  of  death  smiles  and  roseii 
are  blending, 
And  beauty  immortal  awakes  from  tht 
tomb." 


58 


CHRISTIAN     SIMILITUDES. 


MICAH, 

Chap,  vii; 

verse  8. 


PSAL]^,I 
Ixxxii : 
verse  3. 

PilOVERBS, 

Chap,  viii: 
verse  15. 


PSALM 
Ixxxix  : 

verse  14. 


JOB, 

Chap,  xxxi; 

verse  6. 


PEOVERBS, 

Chup.  xvi; 

verse  11. 


PROVERBS, 

Chap,  xl: 
verse  1. 


PROVERBS, 
Chap,  x: 
verse  7. 


JUSTICE. 

Just  balances  shall  ye  hare.     Ler.  xrx:  36 Of  mhose  hand  hare 

I  received  any  bribe?    Sam.  xii:  3. Remove  violence  and  execute 

judgment  and  Justice.     Ezck.  xlv 


JnsTiCK  aloft,  .in  even  balance  boars, 
Willi  nikeilswonl  she  no  offender  spares; 
No  splendors  bright  can  blind  her  honest  sight, 
No   tempting    bribes    can   lure    her   from    the 
right. 


Justice  is  usually  represented  by  a 
female  figure,  having  a  pair  of  balances 
in  one  hand  and  a  sword  in  the  other. 
In  the  engraving  she  is  depicted  as 
trampling  under  her  feet  a  person  who 
is  holding  up  a  bag  of  gold,  to  attract 
her  attention  and  favor.  The  pair  of 
scales  which  the  female  holds  up  in  her 
right  hand,  shows  tl\at  justice  carefully 
weighs  both  sides  of  a  cause.  It  is  her 
office  to  punish  crimes,  therefore  she 
wears  a  sword.  She  is  not  to  be  bought, 
therefore  she  tramples  under  her  feet 
him  who  would  offer  her  a  bribe. 


9. 


When  heaven-born  Justice    spreads    o'er    earth 

her  sway, 
The  wicked  hide  in  that  auspicious  day; 
.Justice  divine,  the  attribute  of  heaven, 
Tempered  with  mercy,  now  to  mortals  given. 


Justice  19  an  attribute  of  Deity,  and 
it  is  that  perfection  whereby  he  is  infi- 
nitely righteous  nnd  just,  both  in  him- 
self and  in  all  his  proceedings  with  his 
creatures.  It  has  been  defined  thus: 
"The  ardent  inclination  of  his  will  to 
prescribe  equal  laws,  as  the  Supreme 
Governor,  and  to  dispense  equal  rewards 
and  punishments."  Among  men.  Justice 
may  be  defined  that  virtue  which  im- 
pels to  give  every  person  what  is  his 
due,  and  comprehends  the  practice  of 
every  virtue  which  reason  prescribes 
or  society  should  expect;  our   duty  to 


CHKISTIAN     SIMILITUDES. 


59 


our  Maker,  to  eacK  other,  and  to  our- 
selves is  fully  answered,  if  we  give 
them  what  we  owe  them. 

Justice  has  been  held  in  esteem  among 
all  nations,  and  many  examples  of  this 
virtue  have  been  handed  down  to  us  on 
tho  page  of  history.  Alexander  Sev- 
erus,  one  of  the  Koman  emperors,  was 
distinguished  for  his  love  of  justice.  In 
his  military  expeditions,  he  visited  the 
tents  of  his  soldiers  to  ascertain  if  any 
of  them  were  absent.  If  he  found  that 
they  had  left  the  camp  only  to  plunder, 
he  inflicted  punishment  upon  them  for 
their  rapacity,  and  concluded  his  rep- 
rimands by  asking  them  "if  they  would 
like  to  bo  plundered  in  the  same  man- 
ner?" It  was  likewise  his  custom, 
whenever  he  ynmishcd  an  officer,  either 
military  or  civil,  to  address  the  sufferer 
either  in  person  or  by  the  officer  who 
was  to  see  the  sentence  executed,  with 
this  equitable  caution  :  "Do  nothing  to 
another  which  you  would  be  unwilling 
should  be  done  to  yourself"  For  this 
golden  rule,  which  he  borrowed  from 
tho  Christians,  he  had  such  an  uncom- 
mon veneration,  that  he  ordered  it  to 
bo  engraved  in  largo  capitals  over  the 
gate  of  his  palace,  and  on  the  doors  of 
many  other  public  buildings. 

Themistocles  once  declared,  in  a  full 
assembly  cif  the  people,  that  he  had  a 
project  of  the  greatest  public  utility, 
but  its  success  depended  on  secresy,  and 
he  desired  that  they  should  appoint  a 
person  to  whom  the  secret  could  be  con- 
tided.  Aristides,  surnamed  "the  Just," 
was  chosen,  as  the  whole  assembly  be- 
lieved in  his  prudence  and  honesty. 
Themistocles,  therefore,  having  taken 
him  aside,  informed  him  that  the  pro- 
ject he  had  conceived  was  to  burn  the 
fleet  of  the  G-recian  States,  which  then 
lay  in  a  neighboring  port,  adding  that, 
by  this  means,  Athens  would  become 
absolute  mistress  of  the  sea  and  the  um- 
pire of  all  Greece.  After  this  explana- 
tion, Aristides  returned  to  the  assembly, 
and  informed  them  that  if  they  carried 


out  the  project  of  Themistocles,  they 
would  obtain  tho  supreme  pcnvcr,  but, 
at  the  same  time,  nothing  could  be 
more  unjust  or  dishonorable.  To  their 
lasting  honor,  the  people  unanimously 
voted  that  the  project  should  be  aban- 
doned. 

Zulcucus,  lawgiver  of  tho  Locrians, 
made  a  laAV  that  adultery  should  be 
punished  with  the  loss  of  both  theoftend- 
er's  eyes;  and  it  fell  out  so  unhappily 
that  his  own  son  was  the  first  to  com- 
mit that  crime,  and,  that  he  might  at 
once  express  the  tenderness  of  a  father 
and  the  uprightness  of  a  judge,  he 
caused  one  of  his  son's  eyes  to  be  put 
out  and  one  of  his  own.  PhilijD  of 
Macedon,  being  urged  to  interpose  his 
credit  and  authority  with  the  judges, 
inbehalf  of  one  of  his  attendants,  whoso 
reputation,  it  was  said,  Avould  be  totally 
ruined  by  a  regular  course  of  justice, 
"Very  probably,"  replied  the  king, 
"but  of  the  two,  I  had  rather  he  should 
ruin  his  reputation  than  I  mine." 

One  of  the  most  remarkable  instances 
of  impartial  justice,  on  record,  was  ex- 
hibited by  Brutus,  the  Roman  Consul. 
Rome,  at  that  time  being  a  Eepublic, 
Ava.3  governed  by  consuls.  A  con- 
spiracy was  formed  by  Tarquin,  among 
the  young  nobility,  to  destro}' the  gov- 
ernment and  to  make  him  king.  This 
plot  was  discovered,  and  the  bravo 
and  patriotic  Brutus  had  the  mortifica- 
tion and  unhappiness  to  discover  that 
two  of  his  sons  were  ringleaders.  His 
office  was  such  that  he  was  compelled 
to  sit  in  judgment  upon  them;  but  he, 
nevertheless,  amid  the  teai'S  of  all  tho 
spectators,  condemned  them  to  be  be- 
headed in  his  presence.  The  most  pow- 
erful feelings  of  natural  affection  were 
overruled  by  a  sense  of  his  duty  as  an 
impartial  judge.  "He  ceased  to  be  a 
father,"  saj-s  an  ancient  author,  "that 
he  might  execute  tlic  duties  of  a  consul, 
and  ciiose  to  live  childless  rather  than 
to  neglect  the  public  punishment  of  a 
crime." 


60 


CHEISTIAN     SIMILITUDES, 


Near  the  beginning  of  this  century, 
one  of  the  West  India  ishmds  was  so 
badly  governed,  that  murder  and  assas- 
sination were  of  daily  occurrence.  Du- 
ring the  revolution  of  that  period,  the 
island  fell  under  the  possession  of  the 
British,  when  the  commander  forthwith 
gave  notice  that  every  murderer  would 
bo  punished  with  death. 

Soon  after,  a  woman,  in  an  affray,  stab- 
bod  a  soldier  to  the  heart,  and  then  fled 
to  a  church,  claiming  and  expecting, 
according  to  the  old  customs,  priestly 
protection.  The  Governor  sent  a  file 
of  soldiers  for  her  arrest;  but  the  pop- 
ulace I'esisting,  he  ordered  out  a  larger 
body,  at  the  same  time  declaring  ho 
would  call  out  all  the  troops  on  the 
island,  if  otherwise  he  should  be  unable 
to  effect  his  object. 

The  miserable  wretch  was  seized, 
brought  before  him,  and  tried  on  the 
spot ;  but  remained  defiant,  expecting 
to  escape  punishment.  Fixing  his  eyes 
upon  her,  at  the  sametinie  pointing  up 
to  the  sun,  then  past  the  meridian,  he 
exclaimed,  with  a  loud  voice,  "  Prisoner, 
do  you  see  yonder  sun?  I  take  my 
oath  before  God,  you  shall  never  see  it 
set!"  True  to  the  letter,  the  unhappy 
woman  suffered  the  penalty  of  the  law 
before  the  setting  of  the  sun.  This 
summary  execution  of  justice  inspired 
such  a  salutary  terror  to  evil  doers,  that 
no  more  murders  were  committed  while 
the  British  had  possession  of  the  island. 


The  peace  of  society  dependeth  on  justice; 
the  happiness  of  individuals  on  the  safe  enjoy- 
ment of  ail  their  possessions 

Keep  tlie  desires  of  lliy  heart,  therefore, 
within  the  bounds  of  moderation;  let  the  hand 
of  justice  lead  thein  right. 

Cast  not  an  evil  eye  on  the  goods  of  thy 
neiglibor;  let  whatsoever  is  his  property  be 
sacred  from  tliy  touch. 

Let  not  temptation  allure,  nor  any  provoca- 
tion excite  thee  to  lift  up  thy  hand  to  the  liaz- 
ard  of  his  life. 

Defame  him  not  in  his  character;  bear  not 
false  witness  against  him. 

Corrupt  not  his  servant  to  cheat  or  forsake 
him;  and  the  wife  of  his  bosom,  O,  tempt  not 
to  sin. 

In  thy  dealings  with  men,  be  impartial  and 
just;  and  do  unto  them  as  thou  wouldst  the; 
do  unto  thee. 

Be  faithful  to  thy  trust,  and  deceive  not  the 
man  that  relielh  upon  tiiee;  be  assured  it  is 
less  evil  in  the  sight  of  God  to  steal  than  to 
betray. 

Oppress  not  the  poor,  and  defraud  not  of  his 
hire  tiie  laboring  man. 

When  thou  sellest  for  gain,  liear  the  whis- 
perings  of  con.'^cience,  and  be  satisfied  with 
moderation ;  nor  from  the  ignorance  of  the 
buyer  make  advantage  to  thyself. 

Pay  the  debts  which  thou  owest;  for  he  who 
gave  thee  credit  relied  upon  thy  honor;  'and  to 
withhold  from  him  his  due  is  both  mean  and 
unjust. 

Finally,  0  son  of  society,  examine  thy 
heart;  call  remembrance  to  thine  aid;  and 
if  in  any  of  these  tilings  thou.findest  thou 
liast  transgressed,  take  sorrow  and  shame  to 
thyself,  and  make  speedy  reparation  to  the 
titinost  of  thy  power." — Economy  of  Human 
Life. 


CHRISTIAN     SIMILITUDES. 


Gl 


PSALM 

cxliv : 
verse  7. 


JOB, 

Chap,  v: 
verse  19. 


ACTS, 

Chap,  xii: 

verse  7. 


PSALM 

Ixxii : 
verse  12. 


1  SAMUEL, 

Chap,    yvii: 

verse  50. 


ACTS, 

Chap,  vii: 
verse  25. 


2  KII^GS, 

Cliap.  vii: 
verses  6,  7. 


ISAIAH, 

Chap,  xlii 
verse  16. 


THE    UNEXPECTED  DELIYERER. 

The  Lord  knonn'th  horn  to  deliver.     2  Pet.  ii:  9. JTe  sent  from 

above,  he  took  me  out  of  many  waters.     Ps.  xviii :  16. 


Lost,  engulfed  in  the  angry  wave, 
No  human  hand  is  near  the  wretcli  to  save; 
Fainter  and  fainter  grows  his  parting  breath, 
Each  struggle  only  brings  him  nearer  death; 
When  lo !   the  Albatross  upon  her  way, 
Pauses,   with  sudden  swoop,  to  seize  her  prey. 
Dips  in  the  foaming  sea  her  dusky  wings, 
When  with  sudden  hope  he  grasps  and  clings; 


Upborne  by  her  he  floats  upon  the  waves, 
Till  some  kind  hand  extends  relief  and  saves. 
O'erwhclmned    in    Life's    dark    sea,   when   hope 

departs, 
Some  unexpected  help,  new  life  imparts; 
Comes  to  the  rescue,  like    the  bird   on  rapid 

wing,  _ 
To  which,  in  joy,  the  sinking  soul  will  cling. 


The  engraving  represents  a  man  in 
the  ocean  clinging  to  tlie  albatross, 
who,  endeavoring  to  fly  from  him,  bears 
him  up  above  the  mighty  Avaters,  thus 
saving  him  from  certain  death.  Tliis 
raost  extraordinary  circumstance  ap- 
pears to  be  well  authenticated,  and  took 
])lace  in  the  folloAving  manner:  While 
a  division  of  the   83d  British  regiment 


was  on  its  way  to  India,  being  at  the 
time  a  short  distance  cast  of  the  Cape 
of  Good  Hope,  one  of  the  men  was  se- 
verely flogged  for  some  slight  off'ense; 
maddened  at  the  punishment,  the  poor 
fellow  was  no  sooner  released  than,  in 
sight  of  all  his  comrades  and  the  ship's 
crew,  he  sprang  overboard. 

At   this  time   there  was  a  hifjh  sea 


G2 


CHEISTIAN     SIMILITUDES, 


running,  and  as  the  man  swept  on  astern 
all  hope  of  saving  liitn  seemed  to  be 
gone.  Eclicf,  however,  came  from  a 
quarter  totally  unexpected.  During  the 
delay  incident  on  lowering  a  boat,  and 
while  the  crowd  on  the  deck  were 
watching  the  form  of  the  soldier  strug- 
gling with  the  boiling  waves,  and 
growing  every  moment  less  distinct,  a 
large  albatross,  such  as  are  always 
found  in  those  latitudes,  coming  like 
magic,  with  an  almost  imperceptible 
motion,  approached  and  made  a  swoop 
at  the  man,  who,  in  the  agonies  of  the 
death  struggle,  seized  it,  and  held  it 
firmly  in  his  grasp,  and  by  this  means 
kept  afloat  until  the  boat  reached  him. 

But  for  the  assistance  thus  almost 
miraculously  rendered,  no  power  on 
earth  could  have  saved  the  soldier,  as, 
in  consequence  of  the  tremendous  sea 
running,  a  long  time  elapsed  before  the 
boat  could  be  manned  and  got  down. 
In  the  meanwhile  ho  was  clinging  to 
the  bird,  whose  flutterings  and  strug- 
gles to  escape  bore  him  up.  Who,  af- 
ter this,  should  despair?  A  raging  eea, 
a  drowning  man,  an  albatross,  what 
eye  could  sec  safety  under  such  circum- 
stances, or  who  will  dare  to  call  this 
chance?  Is  it  not  rather  a  lesson  in- 
tended to  stimulate  faith  and  hope,  and 
teach  us  never  to  despair,  since  in  the 
darkest  moment,  when  the  waves  dash, 
and  the  winds  roar,  and  the  mighty 
waters  seem  closing  over  our  heads, 
"there  may  bo  an  albatross  near?" 

'*It  has  been  remarked,"  says  Mr. 
Buck,  in  his  anecdotes,  "that  ho  who 
duly  observes  Divine  providences,  shall 
never  want  providences  to  observe; 
and  certainly  it  becomes  us,  as  rational 
creatures  and  true  Christians,  to  con- 
template the  consummate  wisdom  and 
unbounded  goodness  of  God  in  the  va- 
rious events  which  transpire.  It  is 
that  there  are  many  difficult  texts  in 
the  Book  of  Providence  which  we  can 
not  easily  elucidate;  but  even  what  wo 
at  present  sec,  hear,  and  know  should 


lead  us  to  admire  Ilim  who  ordereth 
all  things  after  the  counsel  of  his  own 
will,  and  to  Avait  with  patience  till  the 
day  shall  arrive  when  we  shall  be  con- 
strained to  say,  'He  hath  done  all 
things  well.'" 

Who  would  have  anticipated  that 
the  greatest  of  modern  religious  ref- 
ormations in  England  should  have  been 
effected  by  Henry  A^III,  a  cruel  and 
superstitious  king,  the  worst  enemy 
the  reformation  ever  had;  he,  whom, 
by  the  force  of  arms  and  by  the  pro- 
ductions of  the  pen,  oj^posed  this  great 
work,  refuting  those  whom  he  could 
not  liersecute,  and  persecuting  those 
whom  he  could  not  refute !  Who  would 
have  thought  that  this  monarch  should 
first  serve  the  work  he  intended  to 
subvert,  clear  the  wa}'  for  the  Hefor- 
raatioQ,  and,  by  shaking  off  the  Papal 
yoke,  execute  the  plan  of  Providence, 
while  he  seemed  to  do  nothing  but  sa- 
tiate his  voluptuousness  and  ambition! 

How  unexpected  was  it  that  Martin 
Luther,  an  obscure  monk,  could  have 
surmounted  the  obstacles  of  his  preach- 
ing in  Germany;  and  that  the  proud 
Emperor,  Charles  Y,  who  reckoned 
among  his  captives  pontiffs  and  kings,' 
could  not  subdue  one  poor  monk !  Who 
expected  that  the  barbai'ous  tribxinal 
of  the  Inquisition,  under  whose  despotic 
poAver  so  many  nations  trembled,  should 
have  been  one  of  the  principal  causes 
of  the  reformation  in  the  United  Prov- 
inces of  Holland. 

All  true  Christians  believe  that  there 
is  an  overruling  Providence,  who  can 
make  use  of  unlikely  instruments  to 
accomplish  his  purposes.  The  follow- 
ing is  one  among  many  well-authenti- 
cated occurrences  which  could  bo 
brought  as  an  illustration  of  "this  truth. 
A  poor  but  pious  man,  who  obtained 
his  living  by  carrying  coal  to  market, 
was  sometimes  brought  to  extremities 
in  supplying  the  wants  of  his  family. 
On  one  occasion,  being  unable  to  sell 
his  coal,  ho  was  obliged  to  return  home 


CIIIIISTIAN     SIMILITUDES. 


G3 


almost  disheartened,  as  he  had  brought 
no  food  for  his  children.  After  thej' 
had  retired  for  the  night,  the  pious  fa- 
ther went  into  a  little  place  near  his 
house,  for  prayer  and  meditation.  While 
there,  his  mind  was  drawn  out  in  a  re- 
markable manner,  as  he  was  meditat- 
ing on  that  passage  in  Habbakuk, 
'*  Although  the  fig-tree  shall  not  blos- 
som," etc.,  "3'et  I  will  rejoice  in  the  (lod 
of  my  salvation."  He  Avas  so  absorbed 
in  this  subject,  that  ho  lost  sight  of  all 
his  diflScultics  and  troubles. 

When  he  returned  to  his  cottage 
again,  he  was  surprised  to  find  his  table 
loaded  down  with  provisions.  Ho 
could  not  obtain  information  who  it 
was  that  sent  them,  and  this  remark- 
able occurrence  was  long  a  subject  in- 
volved in  wonder  and  mystery.  Many 
years  afterward,  a  miserly  old  man  in 
the  vicinit}^  died,  and  it  was  generally 
observed  that  he  was  never  known  to 
have  performed  a  single  act  of  charity. 
This  remark  having  been  made  one  day 
in  the  hearing  of  an  old  servant  woman, 
who  had  lived  with  him,  she  replied 
it  was  not  strictly  true,  as  on  one  oc- 
casion, many  years  before  his  death, 
lier  master  called  her  up,  and  after  en- 
joining strict  secrecy,  told  her  that  he 
had  suffered  much  in  a  dream,  in  which 


he  saw  the  family  of  the  poor  man 
who  sold  coal  in  a  starving  situation, 
and  that  ho  coiild  not  rest  until  he  had 
relieved  their  sufferings.  He  told  her 
to  hurry  on  her  clothes,  take  a  largo 
basket  of  provisions,  make  haste  to  the 
poor  man's  house,  emj)ty  her  basket  on 
his  table,  answer  no  questions,  but  to 
return  as  quick  as  she  could,  and  to  tell 
no  one  what  had  occurred.  Thus  relief, 
or  deliverance,  came  from  an  agent 
or  source,  albatross-likc,  totally  unex- 
pected. 

A  remarkable  deliverance  recently 
took  place  on  the  ocean,  in  the  vicinity 
of  the  American  coast.  A  large  ocean 
steamer,  during  a  violent  storm,  became 
disabled,  and  finally  went  down  with  all 
her  treasures  on  board.  A  small  Nor- 
wegian vessel  weathered  the  storm, 
and  at  the  time  was  sailing  in  a  diflFcr- 
ent  direction.  A  small  bird  having 
flown  once  or  twice  against  the  face  of 
the  captain,  was,  according  to  ancient 
tradition  or  superstition  of  his  coun- 
trymen, a  token  that  ho  Avas  sailing  in 
a  wrong  direction  ;  he  therefore  altered 
his  course,  came  in  sight  of  the  sink- 
ing ship,  and  although  a  heavy  sea  was 
running,  ho  saved  many  lives  before 
sho  sank. 


64 


CHIUSTIAN     SIMILITUDES, 


ISAIAH, 

Chap.  1 : 
vcrsG  11 


1  JOIIX, 

Chap,  iv: 

vex'sc  1. 


EPHESIANS, 

Chap,  iv : 
verse  14. 


EPHESIANS, 
Chap,  v: 
verse  11. 


2  PETEE, 

Chap,  ii : 
verse  19. 


1  JOHN", 
Chap,  ii: 
verse  22. 


IGXIS-FATUUS,  OR  FALSE  LIGHT. 

Thou  casfeth  my  words  behind  thee.     Ps.  h:  17. Knoweth  not 

whether  he  goeth.     1  John,  ii :  11. Satan  himself  is  iransfoimed 

into  an  angel  of  Light.     2  Cor.  xi :  16. 


Through  the  gloom  the  traveler  takes  his  way, 
No  moonlight  beam  imparts  its  guiding  ray, 
When  sudden  gleaming,  through  the  gloom  of 

night, 
The  Ignis-fatuus  bursts  with  delusive  light, 
Dazzled,  enchanted,  by  the  fitful  ray, 
The  traveler  casts  his  faithful  lamp  away; 
Discards  the  book  that  might  have  been  his 

guide. 
Pursues  the  phantom  over  wilds  untried, 


Through  bogs   and   quagmires,    still  he  stum- 
bles on, 
The  illusive  phantom  glitters  and  is  gone. 
When  mid  the  quagmires  sinking  down  to  death, 
He  bemoans  his  folly  with  his  dying  breath. 
So  many  a  phantom  with  delusive  ray. 
Through  error's   night,   would   lead    our  souls 

astray ; 
But  Heavenly  truth,  our  lamp,  a  trusty  friend, 
A  faithful  guide,  grows  brighter  to  the  end. 


The  Ignis-fatuus  is  a  meteor  or  light 
that  appears  in  the  night  over  marshy 
grounds,  supposed  to  be  occasioned  by 
phosphoric  matter  arising  from  decaying 
substances,  or  by  some  inflammable  gas, 
sometimes  vulgarly  called  Jack-o-lan- 
tern.  Wonderful  stories  have  been  told 
of  travelers   being    misled    and    bewil- 


dered by  following  these  lights,  which 
moved  from  place  to  place  when  they 
were  approached.  These  appearances 
have  been  observed  from  ancient  times. 
Milton,  in  his  Paradise  Lost,  thus  de- 
scribes the  Ignis-fatuus: 

A  wandering  fire, 
Compact  of  unctuous  vapor,  wliich  the  night 


CHRISTIAN    SIMILITUDES. 


65 


Condenses,  and  the  cold  environs  round, 
Kindled  through  agitation  to  a  flame, 
(Which  oft,  they  say,  some  evil  spirit  attends) 
Hovering  and  blazing  with  delusive  light. 
Misleads  th'  amazed  night-wanderer  from  his 

way, 
Through  bogs  and  mires,  and  oft  through 

pond,  or  pool. 
There  swallowed  up  and  lost,  from  succor  far. 

In  passing  through  this  dark  world, 
the  Father  of  our  spirits  has  given  us 
his  Word  as  our  guide-book,  and  has 
also  given  us  the  light,  or  lamp,  of 
Reason,  by  Avhich  we  are  able  to  learn 
its  contents.  In  the  engraving,  a  trav- 
eler, seeing  a  luminous  and  perhaps  a 
beautiful  object  before  him,  is  attracted 
by  it,  and  leaves  the  path  in  which  ho 
is  traveling.  He  discards  his  guide-book, 
the  Bible,  throws  down  the  lamp  by 
which  he  has  been  able  to  discern  his 
pathway,  and  follows  the  new  light,  or 
revelation,  which  now  appeai-s  just  be- 
fore him.  He  is  led  into  morasses, 
swamps,  and  quagmires  in  pursuit  of  his 
object;  he  wanders  far  away,  gets  among 
bogs,  and  perhaps  perishes  in  the  mire. 

The  above  is  a  striking  similitude  of 
many  of  the  new  light  theories  which 
aje  continually  springing  up  from  age 
to  age.  The  great  object  of  Satan,  the 
enemy  of  mankind,  is  to  deceive,  mis- 
lead, and  destroy.  For  this  purpose  he 
transforms  himself  into  an  angel  of  light. 
In  this  disguise  he  deceived  our  first 
mother,  by  pretending  that  she  should 
get  a  great  increase  of  light — Ihat  is,  xcis- 
dom  and  understanding — and  by  this 
means  came  sin  and  death  into  the 
world,  and  all  our  woe. 

To  effect  the  ruin  of  mankind,  Satan 
being  a  "  liar  from  the  beginning,"  en- 
deavors to  lower  our  estimation  of  the 
Bible  as  the  word  of  God,  and  finally  to 
discard  its  doctrines  and  precepts,  He 
at  first  proceeds  in  a  covert  way,  and  in- 
duces men  to  reject  a  part  only  as  being 
of  divine  inspiration;  then  the  whole  is 
3a8ily  discarded,  or  thought  to  be  inferior 
JO  the  new  light,  or  revelation,  which  aj)- 
23 


pears  elsewhere.  The  object  of  the  en- 
emy is  now  accomplished,  the  poor  trav- 
eler is  deceived.  He  now  throws  down 
the  Bible,  the  only  sure  guide-book,  and 
follows  an  ignis-fatuus  into  the  mire 
and  swamps  of  eiTor  and  sin,  where  he 
sinks  to  rise  no  more. 

To  destroy  the  credibility  of  the 
Christian  religion,  Satan  strikes  at  the 
divinity  of  Jesus  Christ,  and  at  the  in- 
fluences of  the  Holy  Spirit.  Our  Lord 
proved  his  divinity  by  the  miracles  he 
performed;  by  the  laying  on  his  hands, 
he  restored  the  sick  to  health.  In  imi- 
tation of  this,  in  our  age  we  have  those 
among  us  who,  by  certain  manifestations, 
the  laying  on  of  hands,  etc.,  profess  to 
heal  the  sick,  and  perform  many  won- 
derful acts.  By  the  theory  of  this  sys 
tem,  he  that  was  in  the  beginning  with 
God,  and  by  whom  all  things  were  cre- 
ated, is  stated  to  be  but  a  mere  man,  and 
all  the  miracles  which  he  performed 
were  accomplished  by  the  same  powep 
which  they  possess.  He  was  inspired, 
so  likewise  are  we;  in  a  measure,  w*! 
have  the  same  power  which  he  possessed 
to  restore  the  sick  to  health. 

It  is  a  doctrine  of  Christianity  that 
the  Spirit  of  God  operates  upon  the  hu- 
man soul,  and  transforms  7nen  into  the 
image  of  Christ,  who  thus  become  Chris- 
tians, or  partakers  of  this  divine  nature. 
We  have  those  among  us,  in  our  age, 
who  claim  power  to  transfuse  their  souls- 
into  that  of  others,  and  control  all  their 
acts,  and  even  all  their  thoughts.  In 
this  particular,  they  claim,  in  effect,  the 
same  power  Avhich  is  possessed  by  the 
Sj^irit  of  God. 

In  addition  to  the  foregoing,  the  fol- 
lowers of  this  new  light,  or  revelation, 
in  certain  cases,  claim  the  attribute  of 
omniscience ;  they  also  profess  to  sum- 
mon persons  from  another  world,  and 
converse  with  departed  spirits  or  de- 
mons. Thus,  the  Deity  worshiped  by 
Christians  is  brought  down  to  the  level 
of  poor  sinful  mortals,  who  contend  that 
their  revelations  are  like  to  his,  and  in 


G6 


CHRISTIAN     SIMILITUDES, 


some  respects  tlicy  claim  almost  equal 
power. 

Thus  in  these  things,  professing  them- 
selves to  be  wise,  they  become  fools, 
walking  in  the  light  their  own  fires  have 
kindled.  It  must,  however,  be  confessed 
that  many  things  have  occurred  in  our 
day  which  remain  totally  unexplained. 
The  depths  of  Satan  are  not  fully  known, 
and  to  what  extent  his  power  may  be 
exhibited  we  know  not;  but  it  is  our 
wisdom  to  follow  no  other  light  but  that 
which  proceeds  from  the  Word  of  God. 

The  heathen  oracles  of  antiquity,  the 
soothsayers,  the  wizards,  possessors  of 
famiUar  spirits,  and  the  sj^irit  of  divina- 
tion mentioned  in  the  Scriptures,  the 
m^agieians  of  Egypt,  ancient  and  mod- 
eim,  the  fortune-tellers  of  the  present 
age  may  all  be  comprised  under  one 
class.  The  oracle  among  the  heathens 
was  the  answer  which  the  gods  were 
supposed  to  give  to  those  who  consulted 
them  upon  any  affair  of  importance.  It 
is  also  used  for  the  god  who  was  thought 
to  give  the  answer,  and  for  the  space 
where  it  was  given.  Many  of  these  an- 
swers were  given  in  caves  and  subterra- 
neous caverns;  numerous  and  disagree- 
able ceremonies  were  enjoined  on  the 
priests  or  medium  through  which  com- 
munications were  made,  such  as  sleeping 
in  the  fresh  skins  of  beasts,  etc. 

The  jiriestess  of  the  Delphic  Oracle  in 
(jrreece,  when  placed  over  a  fissure  from 
which  proceeded  a  sulphurous  vapor, 
began  to  foam  at  the  mouth,  tore  her 
hair  and  flesh,  and  the  words  uttered 
during  her  frenzy  were  put  in  verse  and 
delivered  as  the  answer  of  the  oracle. 
At  Dodona,  the  priestess  foretold  future 
events,  by  attentively  observing  the 
murmur  of  the  sacred  oaks,  the  voice  of 
falling  water,  etc.  In  modern  times, 
those  through  whom  communications 
are  made  are  fii'st  put  asleep,  or  have 
their  powers  of  mind  or  body  stupified 
or  paralyzed. 

Those  who  have  paid  much  attention 
to  these  subjects  are  divided  in  opinion. 


Some  suppose  they  are  only  the  inven- 
tion of  jugglers;  others  believe  that 
there  is  a  diabolic  agency  employed  in 
these  matters.  As  this  latter  opinion 
can  not  be  proved  either  impossible  or 
unscriptural,  it  is  no  absurdity  in  be^ 
lieving  in  its  correctness;  indeed  it  is 
difficult  to  account  for  many  things 
which  stand  recorded  on  the  pages  of 
history  in  every  age,  and  of  every  na- 
tion, on  other  grounds.  The  existence 
and  exercise  of  supernatural  power,  both 
good  and  bad,  is  acknowledged  in  GYerj 
part  of  the  Bible.  All  true  Christians 
believe  in  the  supernatural  influence  of 
the  Divine  Spirit.  To  what  extent  Sa- 
tanic power  is  suff'ered  to  exist  on  mind 
and  matter  we  know  not,  but  we  are 
continually  warned  against  its  machina- 
tions. 

The  Apostle  Paul  says,  "  The  Spirit 
speaketh  expressly  "  of  apostles  in  latter 
times,  "  giving  heed  to  seducing  spirits 
and  doctrines  of  demons "  (i.  e.,  dead 
men) ;  he  probably  refers  to  Isaiah's  pre- 
diction of  men  who  should  say,  "  Seek 
unto  them  that  have  familiar  spirits ; 
.  should  not  a  people  seek  unto 
their  God,  for  the  living  to  the  dead?" 
Hence  the  prophet's  injunction  is  pecu- 
liarly appropriate  to  us  in  these  modern 
times :  "  Tb  the  Law  and  to  the  Testi- 
mony— if  they  sneak  not  according  to 
his  word,  it  it  because  there  is  no  light 
in  them." 

"All  things,"  says  a  recent  writer, 
"betoken  that  we  are  certainly  on  the 
first  steps  of  a  career  of  demoniac  mani- 
festations." Rejecting  the  Bible  as  au- 
thority;  claiming  for  men  inspiration  in 
common  with  Christ  and  the  Apostles, 
and  of  the  same  kind;  regarding  sin  as 
but  a  small  matter,  merely  as  immatur- 
ity of  development;  setting  aside  all 
the  Christian  doctrines  of  a  fall  of  an- 
gels and  men  fi'om  original  holiness,  of 
the  depravity  of  man,  the  atonement  of 
Jesus  Christ,  regeneration,  pardon,  etc., 
the  system  is  beginning  to  be  under- 
stood, though  but   half  developed — "a 


CIIRISTIAX     SIMILITUDES. 


67 


polytheistic  pantheism,  disguising,  under 
Ihe  name  of  Spirit^  a  subtle  but  general 
materialism," — a  sj^stem  which  defines 
the  soul  as  a  substance  not  distinct  from 
the  body,  but  the  result  of  corporeal  or- 
ganization. 

It  has  been  observed  that  the  spirit- 
world  of  this  system  is  like  that  of 
ancient  Egypt,  so  distinguished  for  its 
magicians.  The  Egyptians  divided  the 
whole  world  into  three  zones:  the  first 
was  the  earth,  or  zone  of  trial ;  the  sec- 
ond was  the  zone  of  the  air,  perpetually 
agitated  by  the  winds  and  storms,  and 
was  considered  as  the  zone  of  temporal 
punishment;  the  third  was  the  zone  of 
rest  and  tranquillity;  these  zones  were 
divided  into  thirty-two  departments, 
where  the  souls  of  the  dead  were  to  bo 
distributed,  etc. 

Those  professing  to  have  received  the 
new  illumination  or  revelation,  state 
there  is  a  series  of  grand  spheres,  com- 
mencing with  man's  rudi  mental  sphere 
in  the  flesh,  and  ascending  in  just  gra- 
dation to  the  highest  heavens.  Each 
grand  sphere  comprises  several  second- 
ary spheres  or  circles,  and  each  seco-nd- 
ary  sphere  or  circle  has  several  de- 
grees, etc. 

AYhile  claiming  to  supply  the  lacking 
evidence  of  immortality  needed  to  con- 
vert infidels,  those  that  follow  this  "new 
revelation"  indirectly  deny  that  the 
ve&urrection  of  Christ  "  brought  life  and 
immortality."  Invoking  the  presence 
of  many  mediators,  they  deny  the  one 
mediator  Christ,  b}^  whom  alone  we  ap- 
proach to  God ;  claiming  to  be  the 
heralds  of  millennial  glory,  yet,  with 
few  exceptions,  denying  "that  blessed 
hope,  even  the  glorious  appearing  of  our 
great  God  and  Savior,  Jesus  Christ." 

"Mighty  as  the  deep  yearning  of  man- 


kind in  all  ages  to  penetrate  the  tremen- 
dous secrets  of  the  dead ;  mighty  as  the 
conception  of  departed  worth,  the  unut- 
terable l(5nging  of  depraved  hearts  for 
the  unforgotten,  and  the  ecstatic  delight 
of  souls  suddenly  restored  to  converse 
with  the  idolized,  whose  loss  made  life  a 
desert,  they  weave  the  spell  of  excit- 
ing novelty ;  they  excite  the  vague  pre- 
sentiment of  boundless  discovery,  and 
unveil  a  dazzling  horizon  of  an  elysium 
without  a  cross,  where  mankind  shall  be 
as  gods,  knowing  good  and  evil.  Drunk 
Avith  this  elixir,  the  millions  surrender 
themselves  to  the  implicit  sway  of — what 
powers?  Powers  unseen,  powers  serial, 
under  the  masterly  guidance  of  some 
one  mind  of  fathomless  ability,  and 
fathomless  guile. 

A  foi'eign  divine,  a  few  years  since,  in 
a  lecture  on  religious  subjects,  stated 
that  "there  remains  yet  for  the  world, 
as  the  crowning  delusion,  a  lying  imita- 
tion of  the  kingdom  and  dispensation  of 
the  Spirit — such  as  the  lawless  Com- 
munist sects  of  the  middle  ages,  in  tho 
Familists  of  a  later  day,  and  in  the  St. 
Simonians  of  our  own,  has  attempted  to 
come  to  the  birth,  though  in  each  case 
the  world  was  not  ripe  for  it  yet,  and 
the  thing  was  withdrawn  for  a  time,  to 
reappear  in  an  after  hour — full  of  false 
freedom,  full  of  the  promise  of  bringing 
all  things  into  one,  making  war  on 
the  family,"  etc. 

This  adversary  [the  Antichrist  of  St. 
Paul]  is  not  simply  the  wicked  one,  but 
the  lawless  one ;  and  the  mystery  is  not 
merely  a  mystery  of  iniquity,  but  of 
laiclessness.  Law,  in  all  its  manifest- 
ations, is  that  which  he  shall  rage 
against,  making  hideous  misapplication 
of  that  great  truth  that  "where  the 
Spirit  is,  there  is  liberty."' 


68 


CHEISTIAN     SIMILITUDES 


HEBREWS, 
Chap,  x: 
verse  38. 


JEREMIAH, 
Chap,  ii: 
verse  19. 


PROYERBS, 
Chap,  iv: 
verse  14. 


2  PETER, 
Chap,  li : 
verse  22. 


2  TIMOTHY, 
Chap,  iv: 
verse  10. 


JEREMIAH, 
Chap,   i : 
verse  16. 


REYELATION, 

Chap,  iii: 
verse  15. 


2  PETER, 

Chap,  ii : 
verses  20,  21. 


THE  BACKSLIDER. 

The  Backslider,  turning  to  his  former  sins,  the  Guardian,  Angel 
weeps.  Satan  apjvoaches  to  resume  his  reign  over  him,  while  the 
Spirit  is  dejxirting. 


Behold  the  sinner  turning  fo  liis  sins  again; 
Pride,  gluttony,  ill-will,  a  kindred  train — • 
The  holy,  heavenly  dove  departing  flies, 
His  guardian  angel  views  with  weeping  eyes; 


Satan  approaches  to  resume  his  sway, 
And  guide  iiim  swiftly  on  his  downward  way. 
0!  wretched  man,  who  thus  has  turned  aside 
From  all  that  might  to  peace  and  virtue  guide. 


Backsliding  is  defined  as  turning 
from  the  path  of  duty.  It  presup- 
poses that  the  person  who  is  guilty  of 
it  has,  in  some  part  of  his  life,  and  to 
some  extent,  performed  his  duty  in 
keeping  the  commandments  of  God. 
The  engraving  represents  a  person  of 
this  description,  who,  having  once  cast 
off,   or  renounced  his  sins,  but  by  un- 


watchfulness,  and  by  the  force  of  temp- 
tation, is  led  to  the  commission  of  his 
former  crimes  and  transgressions. 

The  backslider  is  above  represented 
as  taking  into  his  companionship  his 
old  associates,  whom  he  had  formerly 
discarded.  He  begins  to  be  ashamed 
of  the  cross  of  Christ.  Pride  shows 
her  shining  feathers.     Instead  of  par- 


CnmSTlAN     SIMILITUDES 


69 


doning  or  forgiving  those  who  trespass 
against  him,  he  indulges  in  feelings  of 
ill-will  and  anger,  which,  if  persisted 
in,  will  assuredly  consign  him  to  per- 
dition. 

Instead  of  endeavoring  to  attain  pur- 
ity of  mind,  the  backslider  indulges  in 
unclean  thoughts  and  desires,  which, 
if  not  checked  and  resisted,  will  soon 
break  out  into  open  acts  of  licentious- 
ness. The  lower  passions  claim  indul- 
gence, and  by  gluttony  and  intemper- 
ance one  is  assimilated,  or  made  like 
the  unclean  beast.  Indulgence  of  sin 
blinds  the  mind;  deceit  is  practiced 
until,  at  length,  it  finds  a  lodgment  in 
the  bosom. 

The  backslider,  as  he  rejects  the  di- 
vine admonition,  causes  the  heavenly 
Spirit  to  depart.  Satan,  prince  of  the 
children  of  disobedience,  approaches  to 
resume  his  sway  over  one  of  his  former 
subjects.  The  guardian  angel  weeps 
over  the  waywardness  of  her  charge. 
Rejection  of  the  divine  counsel,  the  in- 
dulgence of  the  hateful  passions  of  fallen 
humanity,  with  the  practice  of  beastly 
vices,  places  man  on  the  high  road  to 
everlasting  destruction. 

Tlu'oughout  the  Word  of  God  con- 
tinual cautions  are  given  against  the 
danger  of  backsliding,  or  of  departing 
from  the  living  God.  Even  among  an- 
gelic beings,  the  highest  order  of  intel- 
ligences, we  find  backsliding;  they  left 
their  first  estate,  and  by  transgression 
fell.  Hence  the  expression  of  Isaiah, 
'•How  art  thou  fallen  from  heaven,  O, 
Lucifer,  son  of  the  morning!"  So  our 
first  parents,  in  the  Garden  of  Eden, 
being  tempted,  or  persuaded  by  the 
devil,  became  backsliders,  and  fell  from 
the  state  of  happiness  by  disobeying 
God. 

Solomon,  king  of  Israel,  the  wisest 
of  mortals,  was  admitted  to  near  con- 
verse with  his  Maker,  and  gave  him  a 
wise  and  understanding  heart;  so  that 
there  was  none  like  him  before,  nor 
should  be  afterward.     Even  this  ruler. 


so  distinguished  for  piety  and  greatness, 
became  a  backslider  to  such  an  extent 
that  he  committed  thegreatest  of  crimes, 
by  joining  in  the  worship  of  the  false 
gods  of  the  heathen.  If  such  men  fall 
from  their  steadfastness,  it  well  becomes 
us  all  to  "look  diligently  lest  any  man 
fail  of  the  grace  of  God." 

We  have  recorded  instances  of  back- 
sliding and  apostacy  under  the  Christian 
dispensation,  as  in  the  case  of  Peter, 
Judas,  Demas,  and  others.  The  apostle 
Paul,  speaking  of  the  Jews,  his  countrj^- 
men,  who  were  highly  distinguished 
above  all  other  nations  for  their  superior 
privileges,  says  "they  were  broken  off 
for  their  unbelief."  Addressing  the 
Romans,  he  says  :  "Be  not  high-minded, 
but  fear,  for  thou  standest  by  faith;" 
as  if  he  had  said,  "they  once  stood  by 
faith;"  they  gave  place  to  unbelief,  and 
fell.  You  stand  now  by  faith,  but  it  is 
as  possible  for  you  to  be  unfaithful,  as 
it  was  for  them;  consequently  you  may 
fall,  as  they  have  done. 

"The  causes  of  backsliding,"  eays 
one,  are  "the  parleying  with  tempta- 
tions, the  cares  of  the  world,  improper 
connections,  inattention  to  secret  or 
closet  duties;  self-conceit  and  depend- 
ence, and  self-indulgence.  A  back, 
sliding  state  is  manifested  by  indifter- 
ence  to  prayer  and  self-examination, 
trifling  or  unprofitable  conversation, 
neglect  of  public  ordinances,  shunning 
the  people  of  God,  associating  with  the 
world,  thinking  lightly  of  sin,  neglect 
of  the  Bible,  and  often  by  gross  im- 
morality." 

Better  that  we  had  never  known 

The  way  to  heaven  thronsrh  saving  gracc^ 

Than  basely  in  our  lives  disown. 

And  shgiit  and  mock  thee  to  thy  face 


Come  back!  this  is   the  way; 

Come  back,  and  walk  tlierein- 
0,  may  I  licarkcn  and  obey, 

And  shun  the  paths  of  sin. 


70 


CHRISTIAN     SIMILITUDES. 


HEBREWS, 

Chap,  xi : 
verses  36,  37. 


JAMES, 
Chap,  i : 
verse  12. 


MATTHEW, 

Chap,  xxiv: 

verse  13. 


1  PETEE, 

Chap,  ii: 
verse  19. 


DAITIEL, 

Chap,  iiii 
verse  15. 


DANIEL 

Chap.  V) 
verso  10. 


EEVELATIOIT, 

Chap,  iii: 
verse  10. 


2  COEINTH'NS, 
Chap,  iv: 
verse  18. 


THE  TRIALS  OF  FAITH. 

Your  adversary  .  .  ivhom  resist  steadfast  in  the  faith. 

8,  9. The  trial  of  your  faith.     1   Peter  i:  7. 

that  overcometh  the  world,  even  our  faith.     1  Johji  v:  4 


1  Peter  v : 
The  victory 


Faith  passes  on,  undaunted  on  her  way, 
Though  many  a  tempting  foe  would  lead  astray. 
The  wreathes  of  fame  and  honor,  to  her  sight. 
Are  lure  displayed  in  tempting  radiance     right; 
The  horn  of  plenty  at  her  feet  is  poured. 
The  halls  of  pleasure  spread  their  costly  board; 


While  on  the  left  the  fires  of  persecution  flame, 
And  foes  entice,  or  openly  assail : 
But  Faith  goes  on  her  way,  and  bears  the  cross, 
And  counting  all  her  earthlj'  gains  but  loss, 
Treads  in  her  jSIaster's  steps,  the  Son  of  God, 
Who  once  on  earth  that  fiery  pathway  trod. 


Faith  is  here  represented,  or  personi- 
fied, by  a  female  figure,  surrounded  by 
several  persons,  representing  various 
temptations  and  obstacles  set  forward  to 
oppose  and  stop  her  in  her  onward  and 
upward  course.  Wreaths  of  honor  and 
distinction  are  placed  at  her  feet.  The 
halls  of  pleasure  are  opened,  and  she  is 
invited  to  come  in  thither.  On  the 
other  hand,  the  fii'es  of  persecution  blaze, 


while  the  demon  of  slander  and  detrac- 
tion assail  her  from  behind.  But  amid 
all,  Faith  looks  upward,  and  presses  for- 
ward, holding  up  the  cross,  the  emblem 
of  him  through  whom  she  expects  to 
conquer.  She  follows  the  example  of 
her  Lord  and  Master,  who  once  had  the 
whole  world  offered  to  him  if  he  would 
turn  aside. 

Many    times    those    who    have   com- 


CHEISTIAN"    SIMILITUDES. 


1 


monced  the  Christian  course  in  earnest, 
have  been  strongly  tempted  to  turn 
aside,  by  the  riches  and  honors  which 
have  been  placed  before  them,  to  draw 
their  attention  from  heavenly  things. 
But  we  have  many  instances  on  record 
where  faith  has  overcome.  We  have  an 
illustrious  example  in  Moses,  the  servant 
of  Grod,  who,  through  faith,  refused  to 
be  called  the  son  of  Pharaoh's  daughter, 
thus  renouncing  all  the  jileasures  and 
honors  of  Egj^pt,  choosing  rather  to  suf- 
fer affliction  with  the  people  of  God 
than  enjoy  the  pleasures  of  sin  for  a 
season. 

The  love  of  honor,  glory,  and  renown 
some  men  of  elevated  spirits  have  pre- 
ferred before  all  the  pleasures  of  sense 
and  imagination  put  together.  This 
l^assion,  when  it  takes  possession  of  the 
soul,  IS  one  of  the  most  powerful.  It 
has  triumphed  over  the  strongest  pro- 
pensities of  nature,  the  appetites  and 
affections.  See  the  conqueror  devoting 
liimself  to  a  life  of  constant  toil,  peril, 
and  pain  to  gain  himself  a  name,  to  be 
praised  and  admired  by  those  about  him, 
and  to  have  the  fame  of  his  exploits 
carried  to  distant  lands.  How  many,  in 
every  age,  have  hazarded  their  lives 
upon  a  mere  point  of  honor,  and 

"  Ventured  everlasting  death 
To  gain  this  airy  good." 

All  this  has  been  overcome  by  the  grace 
of  Cxod.  Persons  have  been  found  will- 
ing to  have  their  names  cast  out  as  evil, 
yea,  to  be  counted  as  the  filth  and  oif- 
scouring  of  the  eai"th,  and  suffer  all 
things  for  the  sake  of  Christ. 

The  tempter  endeavors  to  draw  Faith 
aside  to  the  halls  and  mansions  of  ease 
and  pleasure  ;  the  doors  are  opened  wide, 
and  she  is  almost  pressed  to  go  in;  but, 
remembering  the  words  of  inspiration, 
"Touch  not,  taste  not,  handle  not,'" 
Faith  withdraws  her  foot  from  the  gilded 
halls  of  pleasure,  which  indeed  appear 
desirous  to  the  eye  and  sense,  but  are 
the    very    chambers    of  death.      These 


trials  of  faith  are  at  times  extremely 
dangerous — many  have  fallen  by  them 
to  rise  no  more.  Faith,  however,  by 
turning  off  her  eyes  from  beholding 
vanity,  and  looking  above,  gains  the 
victory. 

Persecution  raises  his  flaming  torch, 
and  endeavors  to  terrify  Faith,  and  force 
her  from  the  Christian  path  of  duty. 
Multitudes  of  instances  are  on  record 
where  those  of  the  noble  company  of 
martyrs  have  endured,  literally,  the 
"fiery  trial,"  being  burned  at  the  stake 
rather  than  renounce  the  faith  whiidi 
they  had  professed.  The  Apostle  Paul, 
in  his  epistle  to  the  Hebrews,  gives  a 
long  list  of  the  primitive  martyrs  who 
had  their  faith  tried  b}'  various  tortures. 
Some  had  trial  of  "cruel  mockings" — 
supposed  to  be,  by  some  commentators, 
their  being  exhibited  like  wild  beasts  at 
public  spectacles,  held  up  as  objects  of 
scorn,  derision,  and  contempt.  They 
had  "  scourgings,  yea,  moreover,  of  bonds 
and  imprisonment.  They  were  stoned, 
they  were  sawn  asunder,  were  tempted, 
wei*e  slain  with  the  sword.  They  wan- 
dered about  in  sheep-skins,  and  goat- 
skins; being  destitute,  afflicted,  tor- 
mented; they  wandered  in  deserts,  in 
mountains,  and  in  dens  and  caves  of  the 
earth." 

In  more  modern  times,  the  Albigenses 
of  France,  and  the  Waldenses  in  the 
valleys  of  Piedmont,  were  hunted  and 
extirpated  like  wild  beasts.  John  Huss 
and  Jerome,  of  Prague,  were  burned  at 
the  stake,  heroically  contending  for  the 
faith,  and  went,  as  it  Avere,  in  a  fiery 
chariot  to  heaven.  During  the  reign  of 
Queen  Mary,  in  England.  Latimer,  Rid- 
ley, and  a  noble  company  of  others,  boro 
testimony  to  the  faith  when  wrapped  in 
flames  of  fire. 

One  great  trial  of  faith,  in  every  age, 
has  been  the  endurance  of  slander  from 
those  whose  tongues  are  like  sharp 
swords.  The  ancient  Christians  were 
defamed,  and  were  made  as  the  "filth  of 
the    earth,    and    the   offscouring    of  all 


CHEISTAIN     SIMILITUDES. 


things."  They  were  charged  with  being 
the  enemies  of  the  government  under 
which  they  lived,  the  disturbers  of  the 
public  peace,  the  revilers  of  the  gods  and 
of  true  religion.  They  were  even  accused 
of  the  most  abominable  crimes,  in  order 
to  prejudice  the  public  mind  against 
them.  In  one  instance  a  heathen  em- 
peror himself  caused  a  city  to  be  set  on 
fire,  and  then  charged  it  upon  the  Chris- 
tians, to  excite  public  indignation  against 
them. 

To  bo  adjudged  as  the  filth  and  off- 
scouring  of  the  earth,  was  to  be  made  a 
curse  or  sacrifice.  We  allude  here  to 
the  custom  of  heathen  nations,  who,  in  a 
time  of  public  calamity,  chose  out  some 
men  of  a  most  despicable  character  to 
be  a  public  expiation  for  them.  These 
they  maintained  a  whole  year  at  the 
public  expense,  and  then  led  them  forth, 
crowned  with  flowers,  as  was  customary 
jn  sacrifices;  having  heaped  all  the 
( urses  of  the  country  upon  their  heads, 
Old  whipped  them  se\:en  times,  they 
burned  them  alive,  and  afterward  their 
K,shes  were  thrown  into  the  sea,  while 
Ihe  people  said  "Be  our  propitiation." 
The  apostle,  therefore,  who  speaks  of 
Ihese  trials  of  faith,  means  by  it  that  he 
and  his  brethren  were  treated  like  those 
wretched  beings  who  were  judged  to  be 
fit  for  nothing  but  expiating  victims  to 
the  infernal  gods,  for  the  safety  and  re- 
demption of  the  people. 

The  Divine  Author  of  Christianity, 
(vhen  expiring  on  the  cross  for  the  sal- 
*"ation  of  the  world,  was  derided  and 


mocked  by  those  whom  he  came  to  save. 
Those  that  passed  by  wagged  their 
heads,  in  token  of  contempt,  saying.  You 
who  pretended  to  be  able  to  destroy  the 
temple  and  build  it  again  in  three  days, 
if  you  be  the  Son  of  God,  and  have  such 
power,  why  do  you  not  save  yourself — 
why  not  come  down  from  the  cross? 
You  have  saved  others,  it  is  true,  but 
you  can  not  save  yourself;  and  if  you 
are  the  Son  of  God,  as  you  pretend,  let 
him  save  you.  If  you  will  come  down 
from  the  cross,  where  we  have  put  you, 
we  will  then  believe  you.  Thus  (O  as- 
tonishing thought!)  the  Lord  of  life  and 
glory  "  endured  the  contradiction  of 
sinners  against  himself,"  and  "despising 
the  shame,"  has  left  his  followers  a 
bright  example  of  meekness,  patience, 
and  endurance,  under  the  most  aggra- 
vated insults  which  can  be  off'ered. 

It  has  been  the  lot  of  some  of  God's 
people,  when  in  their  dying  moments, 
to  endure  most  "  cruel  mockings"  from 
their  enemies.  Amid  barbarous  men,  to 
whom  they  went  on  errands  of  love,  the 
devoted  heralds  of  the  cross  have  beeii 
seized  and  put  to  death  in  extreme  tor- 
tures. While  crying,  in  their  last  mo- 
ments, on  the  Lord  Jesus  to  receive 
their  souls,  their  dying  groans  have  been 
mocked,  the  adorable  name  on  which 
they  called  blasphemed,  insulted,  and 
derided  as  a  being  unable  to  deliver 
those  who  trust  in  him.  Others  have 
been  burned  to  ashes,  amid  the  triumph- 
ant shouts  and  derisive  yells  of  demons 
in  human  form. 


CHEISTIAN    SIMILITUDES, 


73 


MATTHEW, 

Chap,  vi: 
verse  13. 


COLOSSIANS, 

Chap,  iii: 

verse  9. 


ACTS, 

Chap,  v: 

verses  2,  3. 


ISAIAH, 

Chap,  lix : 
verse  6. 


2  KINGS, 

Chap,  viii: 
verses  12,  13. 


PEOYEEBS, 
Chap,  xi: 
verse  19. 


FOUR  FATAL   STEPS.     • 

When  lust  hath  conceived  it  hringeth  forth  sin,  and  sin,  when  it  is 
finished,  hringeth  forth  death.     Jas.  i:  15. 


Behold  in  truthful  types  depicted  here, 
Four  downward  steps  in  Error's  mad  career: 
First  Debt,  the  parent  source  of  many  an  ill, 
Incites  to  covet,  keeps  him  anxious  still; 
Then  Falsehood  comes,  the  debt  he  can  not  pay, 
Will  prompt  his  lips  a  lying  tale  to  say; 


Then  Theft,  that  by  dishonest  means  obtains 
The  sum  he  can  not  raise  by  honest  gains; 
Next,  theft  found  out,  Murder  must  then  conceal 
The  crime,  his  victim  else  would  soon  reveal- — 
Beyond  all  these,  the  dreary  future  shows. 
The  hangman's  gibbet  is  the  fearful  close. 


It  is  a  direction  of  Infinite  "Wisdom, 
through  the  Apostle,  to  "owe  no  man 
any  thing;"  which,  though  primarily 
spoken  in  reference  to  that  love  which 
we  owe  to  one  another,  yet,  no  doubt, 
includes  the  pecuniary  obligations  duo 
to  our  fellow-men.  The  wisdom  of  this 
command  is  apparent,  when  we  see  that 
an  opposite  course  is  opening  the  door 
to  temptation,  and  places  us  on  the  di- 
rect road  to  ruin. 

One  sin  leads  to  another.  One  may 
strongly  covet  something  which  he  does 
not  possess,  and  which  is  not  necessary 
that  he  should  have.     He  has  thus  far 


led,  it  may  be,  an  honest  life,  and  peo- 
ple have  confidence  in  his  integrity. 
Taking  advantage  of  this  circumstance, 
he  first  borrows  money  of  a  neighbor, 
■without  intention  of  deceiving  or  de- 
frauding him  in  the  slightest  degree.  He 
expects  to  be  able  to  return  it  by  the  time 
apjDointed;  but  ho  has  not  made  any 
provision  to  meet  any  disappointment, 
and  erred  in  not  making  his  friend  ac- 
quainted with  his  circumstances.-  Ho 
has,  however,  taken  a  load  on  his 
shoulders  which  he  does  not  know  how 
to  set  down;  he  has  got  into  debt;  he  is 
on  the  first  of  the  four  fatal  steps. 


7^ 


CHEISTIAK     SIMILITUDES, 


Thus  involved  in  debt,  the  next 
downward  step  is  that  of  lying.  Having 
borrowed  the  sum  wanted,  he,  for  a  time, 
felt  easy ;  and  instead  of  taking  measures 
to  fulfill  his  obligations,  he  put  oif  till  to- 
morrow what  ought  to  have  been  done 
, to-day.  The  time  of  payment  arrives 
and  finds  him  unprepared.  Perhaps  he 
thinks  his  neighbor  does  not  want  the 
money,  and  it  will  not  make  much  dif- 
ference whether  he  is  paid  this  week 
or  the  next,  lie  has  broken  his  word, 
and  begins  to  make  excuses  to  his 
creditor.  He  attemjjts  to  represent  his 
case  in  a  more  favorable  light  than  it 
ought  to  be;  he  begins  to  prevaricate, 
and  practices  deception,  perhaps,  at 
first,  on  a  small  scale.  He  bori'ows  of 
one  person  to  pay  another,  it  may  be 
with  still  less  probability  of  meeting 
the  new  obligation  than  before.  He 
practices  deception  on  a  larger  scale, 
tells  what  he  considers, a  small  lie,  and 
then,  after  a  little,  is  guilty  of  a  direct 
falsehood. 

The  third  fatal  step  downward  is 
stealing.  Having,  by  a  course  of  decep- 
tion and  lying,  destroyed  his  credibility, 
he  finds  that  no  one  will  trust  him  with 
any  thing  on  the  strength  of  his  word. 
He  is  pressed  for  money,  and  he  knows 
of  no  means  to  obtain  it  excepting  by 
fraud,  stealing,  and  robbery.  Having 
thus  far  possessed  a  decent  exterior, 
and  a  regard  for  common  moralit}^,  he 
has  facilities  to  perpetrate  these  crimes 
which  others,  more  gross  and  wicked  in 
their  outward  conduct,  have  not.  He 
may,  for  a  time,  so  manage  as  to  escape 
the  legal  penalties  of  crime,  but  he  is 
fast  preparing  himself  to  commit  the 
greatest  enormities. 

The  fourth  or  last  fatal  step  is  mur- 
der., or  the  taking  of  human  life,  to  con- 
ceal fraud  or  robbery.  By  a  long  course 
of  deception,  the  mind  of  him  who 
commenced  his  downward  career  by 
creating  an  unnecessary  debt  becomes, 
in  a  measure,  seared  and  blinded.  In 
fact  he  has  succeeded  in  deceiving  him- 


self. He  has  wished  that  there  was  no 
future  world,  where  men  are  punished 
for  crimes  done  in  this.  He  has  kept 
himself  aloof  from  j^^^ces  where  he 
mightgain  instruction.  He  will  notcome 
to  the  light  lest  his  deeds  be  rej^roved. 

He  has  seen,  it  may  be,  many  vil- 
lainies and  outrages  perpetrated  which 
have  been  folloAved  with  the  desired  suc- 
cess ;  and  because  punishment  is  not 
executed  speedily,  the  heart  is  fully 
set  to  do  evil.  He  finally  brings  him- 
self to  believe  that  there  is  no  hereaf- 
ter— that  when  a  man  dies  that  is  the 
end  of  him.  He  has  prepared  himself 
for  the  commission  of  any  crime  in 
which  human  penalties  are  not  involved. 
To  escape  this,  and  following  the  maxim, 
"dead  men  tell  no  tales,"  he  will,  to 
cbnceal  his  wickedness,  commit  murder, 
and,  in  all  probability,  end  his  career 
on  the  gallows. 

Many  Avell-known  instances  might  be 
cited  where  the  foregoing  crimes  have 
been  committed  in  the  order  here  de- 
scribed. No  man  becomes  a  villain  at 
once.  Inclined,  as  the  unregenerate  heart 
is,  to  sin,  yet  there  is  a  first  step  in 
the  path  of  every  crime.  At  that  point 
in  the  career  of  guilt,  the  man  would 
have  shuddered  at  the  thotight  of  deeds 
which  he  afterward  performed  without 
i^emorse. 

In  cases  where  the  highest  crime  is 
not  committed,  men  are  often  totally 
ruined  in  consequence  of  getting  into 
debt  and  practicing  deception.  A  clerk 
in  a  store,  a  teller  in  a  bank,  an  agent 
in  his  oflSce,  has  peculiar  temptations. 

How  many  have  been  ruined  by 
making  an  unnecessary  display  in  house- 
hold matters.  He  who  is  constantly 
handling  the  money  of  others  is  tempted, 
when  in  a  strait,  to  use  some  small 
part  of  it  for  his  own  use,  with  the 
promise,  perhaps,  made  to  himself,  that 
he  will  restore  it,  and  that  speedily. 
But  he  finds  it  easier  to  borrow  than 
to  pay,  when  no  one  calls  him  to  an 
account.     The  more  he  takes,  the  more 


CHEISTIAN    SIMILITUDES. 


75 


he  wants  to  take.  He  begins  a  course 
of  extravagance,  and  falls  into  sins  that 
requires  money  to  secure  the  indul- 
gence. He  speculates,  in  hope  of  pay- 
ing all  back  at  once;  every  plunge  in- 
creases his  embarrassment ;  his  guilt 
breaks  out ;  he  flies  from  justice,  a  lost, 
Belf-ruined  man. 

In  connection  with  this  subject,  it 
may  be  stated  that  lying  is  one  of  the 
'  most  dishonorable  and  disgraceful  acts 
of  which  human  beings  can  be  guilty. 
It  is  the  mark  of  a  mean  and  worthless 
spirit — a  vice  which  early  discovers 
itself  in  the  human  mind;  and  to  dis- 
courage or  eradicate  it,  no  caution  or 
attention  can  be  too  great  or  severe. 
As  it  is  founded  in  the  worst  jjrinciplcs, 
so  is  it  productive  of  the  greatest  evils, 
being  not  only  bad  in  itself,  but  is  used 
to  cloak  other  offenses.  "  Simply  to 
lie,"  says  one,  "is  an  offense;  to  lie  in 
oi'der  to  conceal  a  fault,  is  a  double  of- 
fense; but  to  lie  with  a  malicious  pur- 
pose, with  a  view  to  predjudice  others,  is 
an  offeuse  aggravated  tenfold,  and  truly 


diabolical."  "Never,"  says  a  writer, 
addressing  the  young,  "in  a  smaller  or 
greater  matter,  suffer  your  lips  to  deviate 
from  the  truth ;  speak  it  honestly,  openly, 
and  without  reserve  ;  you  can  not  con- 
ceive how  easily  the  mind  is  corrupted 
by  the  slightest  indulgence  in  falsehood, 
by  the  least  license  given  to  little  mean 
resei'vations,  equivocations,  and  mental 
chicanery.  Be  assured  that  a  fault  is 
always  doubled  by  denying  it;  an  open, 
frank    confession     disarms    resentment 

and  conciliates  affection 

There  is  great  reason  to  presume  that 
those  who  are  conscientious  in  their 
Avords,  will  be  so  in  their  actions  .  .  . 
The  least  temptation  to  fraud  must 
never  be  suffered  to  remain  a  moment 
in  your  hearts;  dishonesty  will  blast 
your  reputation  and  all  your  hopes; 
and  it  will  be  still  worse  in  those  who 
are  intrusted  with  the  charge  of  the 
property  of  others,  for  the  breach  of 
trust  is  one  of  the  highest  aggravations 
of  an  offense." 


76 


CHRISTIAN     SIMILITUDES, 


EPHESIANS,  ^^m 

Chap,  iv: 
verse  14. 


COLOSSIANS, 
Chap,  ii: 
verse  8. 


PSALM 

xxxvii : 

verse  32. 


MATTHEW, 

Chap,  xxiv: 

verse  43. 


EEVELATION, 

Chap,  iii: 

verse  2. 


2  SAMUEL, 

Chap.  XX : 

verses  9,  10. 


MATTHEW, 

Chap,  xxii: 

verses  16,  17. 


PSALM 
x: 

verses  9,  10. 


THE  CONCEALED  ATTACK. 

Take  heed  that  no  man  dcccice  you.     llatt.  xxiv  :  4. The  God 

of  this  ivorld  hath  blinded  the  minds  of  them  which  believe  not. 
2  Cor.  IV :  4. 


The  opposing  ranks  that  here  the  foe  approach, 
Would  stealthily  upon  their  ranks  encroach, 
Not  with  the  blast  of  trumpet,  or  the  sound 
Of  martial  music,  waking  echoes  round ; 


But  'mid  the  smoke,  whose  curling  wreaths  arise 
Filling  the  landscape,  blinding  thus  their  eyes  J 
Then  drawing  near,  make  a  fierce  attack, 
Rout  the  enemy,  and  drive  them  back. 


In  the  war  with  Mexico,  a  military 
officer,  wishing  to  attack  a  strong  po- 
sition of  his  opponents,  felt  that  his 
success  would,  be  doubtful  if  his  move- 
ments were  seen.  Having  laid  his  plan 
to  make  the  attack  at  a  certain  point,  he 
threw  forward,  in  front  of  the  enemy's 
works,  numerous  smoke-balls,  which  he 
had  prepared  for  the  occasion.     Soon  a 


dense  cloud  of  smoke  arose  over  the 
whole  field,  which  entirely  concealed 
the  approach  of  the  Americans  until 
they  were  almost  within  the  works  of 
the  enemy.  The  attack  was  in  such  a 
covert  and  sudden  manner,  that  no  op- 
portunity was  given  the  foe  for  effectual 
resistance,  and  the  fortifications  were 
easily  taken. 


CHEISTIAN     SIMILITUDES. 


77 


This  mode  of  attack  has  often  been 
used  to  assail  some  important  trutli  or 
doctrine  of  Christianity.  It  would  not 
answer  the  purposes  of  its  enemies  to 
openly  attack  it.  The  assault  must  be 
;made  in  a  covei't  way;  other  issues  and 
appearances  are  presented  which  con- 
ceal the  real  approach,  like  the  smoke- 
balls  which  shut  off  the  vision  fi-om  sur- 
rounding objects. 

In  the  first  ages  of  Christianity,  the 
heathen  emperoi'S  and  magistrates  wished 
to  destroy  Christianity.  To  accomplish 
this,  it  seemed  necessary  to  put  to  death 
all  who .  embraced  it.  Such  were  the 
holy  and  blameless  lives  of  the  first 
Christians,  that  it  would  have  been  too 
shocking  an  outrage  to  inurder  them 
merely  on  account  of  their  religious  be- 
lief; therefore  various  crimes  were  laid 
to  their  charge.  One  of  the  heathen 
emperors  set  Rome  on  fire,  and  then 
charged  it  upon  the  Christians.  They 
were  even  accused  of  being  cannibals, 
or  eaters  of  human  flesh,  and  also  of 
sacrificing  young  children  to  their  gods. 

By  such,  and  kindred  means,  the 
people  became  exasperated.  Their  vision 
was  obscured  as  to  the  real  object  of 
the  enemies  of  Christianity,  by  the 
clouds  of  indignation  which  arose  on 
account  of  their  supposed  enormities. 
As  if  this  was  not  sufficient  to  incite  the 
multitude  to  action,  an  appeal  was  made 
to  their  fears.  "These  Christians," 
said  they,  "blaspheme  our  gods,  whose 
anger  is  kindled  against  us  and  our 
country  on  their  account ;  else  why  do 
we  witness  such  storms,  tempests,  inun- 
dations, and  earthquakes.  Before  this 
hated  sect  arose,  such  things  rarely  hap- 
pened. To  save  ourselves  and  homes 
from  ruin,  to  appease  the  anger  of  our 
deities,  Ave  must  put  these  Christians  to 
death."  Under  the  cover  of  indignation 
against  crime,  on  one  hand,  and  of  patri- 
otism and  love  of  country,  on  the  other, 
vast  numbers  of  Christians  throughout 
the  Roman  empire  were  slain. 

The  rulers  of  the  Jews  wished  to  put 


to  death  the  Son  of  God,  who  had  given 
his  testimony  against  their  vices  and 
crimes.  But  such  was  his  beneficence 
and  spotless  purity,  that  they  feared  to 
lay  their  hands  upon  him.  Some  cover 
or  cloud  of  smoke  must  be  raised  to  con- 
ceal their  real  design.  He  was  accused 
of  speaking  against  the  Mosaic  religion, 
against  their  temple,  and  was  a  deceiver 
of  the  worst  kind.  They  told  the  peo- 
ple that  if  he  was  suffered  to  live  and 
teach  his  doctrines  their  country  would 
be  ruined,  for  "  the  Romans  would  come 
and  take  away  both  their  place  and  na- 
tion." By  this,  and  such  like  means, 
the  Lord  of  life  and  glory  was  de- 
nounced, the  multitude  was  set  against 
him,  their  vision  was  obscured,  and  they 
cried  out,  "Away  with  him,  let  him  be 
crucified !  " 

When  Paul  declared,  at  Ephesus,  that 
"they  be  no  gods  which  are  made  by 
men's  hands,"  Demetrius  and  his  fellow- 
craftsmen  filled  the  whole  city  with  con« 
fusion,  on  account  of  their  business 
being  in  danger.  They  made  silver 
shrines,  or  models  of  the  temple  of 
Diana,  where  that  goddess  was  wor- 
shiped at  Ephesus,  and  by  their  sale 
obtained  great  wealth.  They  plainly 
saw  that  if  the  apostles  were  permitted 
to  go  on  thus  preaching,  the  worship  of 
Diana  would  be  destroyed,  and  their 
business  ruined. 

Therefore,  self-interest,  more  than  the 
worship  of  Diana,  caused  the  opposition 
to  Paul  at  Ephesus.  The  cry  of  "great 
is  Diana  of  the  Ephesians  "  was  used  as 
a  covert  to  drive  him  from  the  citj'. 
More  than  forty  of  the  Jews  secretly 
banded  together,  and  swore  a  solemn 
oath  neither  to  eat  nor  to  drink  until 
they  had  killed  him.  Their  murderous 
design  failed  of  its  accom])]ishment  only 
by  the  special  interposition  of  Divine 
Providence. 

The  object  of  the  great  enemy  of  man- 
kind is  to  introduce  sin,  in  some  form  or 
other,  into  the  Avorld.     To  effect  his  pur 
pose,   he  conceals  his  movements   from 


CHEISTIAN    SIMILITUDES. 


his  unsuspecting  victims.  He  can  even 
transform  himself  into  an  angel  of  light. 
As  in  the  temptation  in  the  garden  of 
Eden,  he  promises  some  good  to  those 
who  will  follow  his  suggestions. 

Does  Satan  wish  to  destroy  an  institu- 
tion which  the  Savior  of  the  world  once 
honored  with  his  presence,  he  ap- 
jjroaches  his  victims,  speaking  most  af- 
fectionately of  mutual  love.  "  Is  noc  God 
^  himself  declared  to  be  Love  ?  How  holy, 
then,  is  the  passion !  You  are  all  one  in 
Christ  Jesus."  How  elevated  and  enno- 
bling the  thought!  By  and  by  the 
tempter  suggests,  "If  all  are  one,  what 
one  possesses  is  equally  the  property  of 
all — what  is  mine  is  yours,  and  what  is 
yours  is  mine.     If  you  have  any  thing 


that  I  want  more  than  what  you  do,  can 
I  not  take  it;  even  the  wife  of  your 
bosom,  is  she  not  mine  also?  We  are 
freed  from  the  yoke  of  the  law,  and  we 
are  so  perfected  in  love  that  we  can  not 
sin." 

Eeasonings  like  these  may  arise,  and 
blind  the  soul  to  approaching  foes. 
These  mists  of  error  conceal  the  advance 
of  a  deadly  enemy.  They  may  even  be 
made  to  appear  like  the  clouds  of  in- 
cense which  ai'ose  in  the  holy  temple. 
But  we  may  be  assured  that  in  what- 
ever form  such  reasonings  appear,  they 
are  but  smoke-balls  cast  from  the  infer- 
nal pit,  in  order  to  deceive  and  ruin  the 
soul. 


chbistia:^   similitudes. 


■39 


GENESIS, 

Chap,  xxxvii: 

verse  35. 


HEBEEWS, 
Chap,  xii: 

verse  8. 


GENESIS, 

Chap,  xxxix: 

verse  20. 


JOHN, 

Chap,  xi: 

verse  4. 


PSALM 

cxix: 
verse  67. 


LAMENTA'NS, 
Chap,  iii: 
verse  27. 


PEOVEKBS, 

Chap,  xvi : 
verse  9. 


EOMANS, 

Chap,  viii: 

verse  28. 


CROSS-PROVIDENCES. 


As  many  as  I  love  I  rebuke  and  chasten.     Rev.  iii:  19. 

56  seen  the  end  of  the  Lord  .  .  .  tender  mercy.     James  v :  11.- 


•Ye 


have  seen  the  end  of  the  Lord  .  .  .  tendi 
The  angel  of  his  presence  saved  them. 


6. 


Behold  !  before  the  weary  traveler's  eyes, 
A  palace  with  its  beauteous  walls  arise ; 
With  joy,  he  seems  to  see  his  journey  end, 
Resolves  beneath  its  roof  the  night  to  spend. 
He  presses  on,  when  suddSn  in  his  way, 
A  form  angelic  bids  his  footsteps  stay ; 


He  sees  the  glittering  sword  the  pathway  guard, 

Bemoans,  perchance  with  tears,  his  fortune  hard. 

The  gulf  yawns  deep,  but  he  sees  it  not, 

As  an  angel  kind  his  footsteps  stop; 

Tis  Mercy's  form  across  his  pathway  moves, 

And  this  cross-providence  salvation  proves. 


The  traveler,  somewhat  wearied  by 
his  journej",  has  come  in  sight  of  a 
beautiful  palace,  where  he  hopes  to  re- 
pose, as  he  understands  travelers  can  be 
accommodated  there  with  little  or  no 
expense.  Comforting  himself  with  this 
prospect,  he  presses  forward,  until  he  is 
suddenly  stopped  by  one  whom  he  sup- 


poses to  be  an  evil  angel  sent  by  the 
prince  of  darkness,  who  doliglits  in  the 
torment  and  misery  of  mankind.  His 
supposed  enemy  frowns  upon  him,  stands 
across  his  pathway,  sword  in  hand,  com- 
pletely preventing  his  further  progress 
in  that  direction. 

The  traveler  thinks  that  he  is  hardly 


80 


CHRISTAIN     SIJtILITUDES. 


dealt  with  ;  perhaps  murmurs  and  com- 
plains that  all  his  bright  prospects  are 
destroyed,  and  is  ready  to  say,  "All  these 
things  are  against  me."  Blind  mortal! 
he  does  not  know  that  just  before  him  is 
an  awful  and  yawning  gulf,  where  many 
have  fallen  to  rise  no  more.  Had  ho 
been  left  to  pursue  the  way  to  the  man- 
sions where  he  expected  so  much  happi- 
ness, he  also  would  have  perished  like 
others  before  him. 

We  can,  doubtless,  recollect  in  our  ex- 
perience, that  we  have  been  almost  im- 
perceptibly turned  from  a  course  which 
we  have  laid  out  for  ourselves. 

It  is  quite  possible  that  ministering 
angels  have,  by  means  unobserved,  been 
silently  influencing  our  minds  to  pur- 
sue the  right  course;  or,  if  such  gentle 
means  have  foiled  to  turn  us  from  the 
path  wo  are  pursuing,  violence  has  been 
used,  and  we  have  been  forced  to  stop  in 
our  course.  Something  which  we  call  a 
great  misfortune,  or  cross-providence, 
has  befoUen  us,  and  we  were  tempted  to 
murmur  and  repine  at  the  troubles 
which  befell  us.  But  have  we  not,  many 
times  had  cause  to  rejoice  that  these  af- 
flictive dispensations  have  proved  mer- 
cies in  disguise?  For  by  them  greater 
misfortunes,  or  perhaps  our  entire  ruin, 
has  been  prevented. 

"Afilictions,"  says  one,  "are  God's  most 
effectual  means  to  keep  us  from  losing 
our  way  to  our  heavenly  rest."  With- 
out this  hedge  of  thorns  on  the  right 
hand  and  on  the  left,  we  should  hardly 
keep  the  way  to  heaven.  If  there  be 
but  one  gap  open,  how  ready  are  we  to 
find  it  and  turn  out  at  it !  When  wo 
grow  wanton  or  proud,  how  doth  sick- 
ness or  other  affliction  reduce  us !  Every 
Christian,  as  well  as  Luther,  may  well 
call  aflliction  one  of  his  best  school-mas- 
ters, and,  with  David,  may  say,  "Before 
I  was  afflicted  I  went  astray,  but  now 
have  I  kept  my  word." 

Whenever  the  Almighty  sends  an  ad- 
verse dispensation,  or  by  cross-provi- 
dences, our  path  seems  crossed  or  stopped 


up,  it  may  be  presumed  to  be  with  this 
message,  "Go  draw  that  sinner  or  that 
Christian  from  the  love  of  the  world ;  go 
take  away  that  comfort,  he  is  going  to 
make  an  idol  of  it ;  go  stop  his  pathway 
in  that  direction,  for  certain  destruction 
awaits  him  if  he  proceeds  further." 

The  reasonableness  of  present  afflic- 
tions will  appear,  that  by  their  means  we 
are  induced  to  seek  our  true  rest;  that 
they  keep  us  from  mistaking  it,  and  from 
losing  our  way  to  it;  that  our  peace  is 
quickened  toward  it;  and,  although  for 
the  present  they  are  not  joyous,  but 
grievous,  yet  afterward  they  yield  the 
peaceable  fruits  of  righteousness.  Many 
of  those  who  have  stood  high  in  the 
ftxvor  of  God  have  been  exercised  with 
sharp  afflictions.  Moses,  whom  God 
honored  with  the  most  condescending 
and  familiar  studies  of  himself,  was  tried 
by  long  afflictions.  David,  a  man  after 
God's  own  heart,  was,  for  a  long  time, 
hurled  to  and  fro  by  tempestuous  perse- 
cutions from  his  unjust  and  implacable 
enemies.  Isaiah,  who  was  dignified 
with  such  heavenly  visions  that  his  de- 
scription of  the  suff"erings  of  Christ  seems 
rather  the  history  of  an  evangelist  than 
the  vision  of  a  prophet,  was,  it  is  as- 
serted, sawn  asunder. 

Providence  is  defined  to  be  the  super- 
intendence and  care  which  God  exercises 
over  creation.  It  has,  by  some  writers, 
been  divided  into  immediate  and  medi- 
ate, ordinary  and  extaordinar}^,  common 
and  special,  universal  and  particular. 
Immediate  providence  is  that  which  is 
exercised  by  God  himself,  without  the 
use  of  any  instrument  or  second  cause; 
mediate  providence  is  what  is  exercised 
in  the  use  of  means,  and  by  the  chain  of 
second  causes ;  extraordinary  is  wdiat  is 
out  of  the  common  waj^,  as  miraculous  op- 
erations. Comjnon  providence  is  what  be- 
longs to  the  whole  world ;  special,  what 
relates  to  the  church.  Universal  relates 
to  the  general  upholding  and  preserving 
all  things;  particular  relates  to  individ- 
uals in  uvery  action  and  circumstance. 


CnEISTIAX     SIMILITUDES. 


81 


With  regard  to  jpartmdar  providence, 
which  is  denied  by  some,  a  good  writer 
observes:  "The  opinion  entei'tained  by 
some  that  the  providence  of  God  extends 
no  further  than  to  a  general  superintend- 
ence of  the  laws  of  nature,  without  in- 
terposing in  the  particular  concerns  of 
individuals,  is  contrary  both  to  reason 
and  Scripture.  It  renders  the  govern- 
ment of  the  Almighty  altogether  loose 
and  contingent,  and  would  leave  no 
ground  for  reposing  any  trust  under  its 
protection;  for  the  majority  of  human 
affairs  would  then  be  allowed  to  fluctu- 
ate in  a  fortuitous  course,  without  mov- 
ing in  any  regular  direction,  and  with- 
out tending  to  any  one  scope. 

"The  uniform  doctrine  of  the  sacred 
writings  is,  that  throughout  the  universe 
nothing  happens  without  God — that  his 
hand  is  ever  active,  and  that  his  decree, 
or  permission,  intervenes  in  all;  that 
nothing  is  too  great  or  unwieldy  for  his 
management;  and  nothing  so  minute 
and  inconsiderable  as  to  be  below  his 
inspection  and  care.  While  ho  is  guid- 
ing the  sun  and  moon  in  their  course 
through  the  heavens;  while  in  this  in- 
ferior world  he  is  ruling  among  empires, 
stilling  the  raging  of  the  water  and  the 
tumults  of  the  people,  ho  is,  at  the  same 
time,  watching  over  the  humble,  good 
man,  who,  in  the  obscurity  of  his  cottage, 
is  serving  and  worshiping  him." 

In  what  manner  Providence  inlluences  and 
directs  the  thoughts  and  councils  of  men,  and 
still  leaves  them  to  the  freedom  of  their  choice, 
is  a  subject  of  dark  and  mysterious  nature,  and 
which  ha3  given  rise  to  many  an  intricate  con- 
troversy. It  is  clear  from  the  testimony  from 
Scripture,  that  God  takes  part  in  all  that  haj>- 
pens  among  mankind,  directing  and  overruling 
the  whole  course  of  events,  so  as  to  make  every 
one  of  them  answer  the  designs  of  liis  wise 
and  righteous  government.  It  is  upon  the  sup- 
position of  a  particular  providence  tliat  our 
worship  and  prayers  to  liim  are  founded.  All 
his  perfections  would  he  utterly  insignificant  to 
U8  if  tliev  were  not  exercised,  on  every  occa- 

24 


sion,  according  to  the  circumstances  of  his  crea- 
tures. 

In  how  many  instances  have  we  found  that 
we  are  held  in  subjection  to  a  liigher  power,  on 
whom  depends  tlie  accomplishment  of  our 
wishes  and  designs?  Fondly  we  have  pro- 
jected some  favorite  plan.  We  tliought  we  had 
provided  for  all  tliat  might  happen;  but  lo! 
some  little  event  has  come  about  unseen  by 
us,  and  its  consequences,  at  the  first  seemingly 
inconsiderable,  which  yet  hatli  turned  the 
whole  course  of  things  into  a  new  direction, 
and  blasted  all  our  hopes.  At  other  times  our 
counsels  and  plans  have  been  permitted  to  suc- 
ceed; we  then  applauded  our  own  wisdom,  and 
sat  down  to  feast  on  the  happiness  we  had 
attained.  To  our  surprise,  liappiness  was  not 
there,  and  that  God's  decree  had  appointed  it 
to  be  only  vanity. 

From  the  imperfection  of  our  knowledge  to 
ascertain  what  is  good  for  us,  and  from  the 
defect  in  our  power  to  bring  about  that  good 
when  known,  arise  all  those  disapoinitments 
which  continually  testify  that  the  way  of  man 
is  not  in  himself,  and  that,  though  he  may 
devise^  it  is  God  who  directs.  Accident,  and 
chance,  and  fortune  are  words  often  men- 
tioned, and  much  is  ascribed  to  them  in  the 
life  of  man.  But  tliey  are  words  witlioui 
meaning;  or,  as  iar  as  they  have  any  significa- 
tion, they  are  no  other  than  names  for  the  un- 
known operations  of  Providence. 

That  chaos  of  human  aflairs,  where  we  can 
see  no  light,  that  mass  of  disorder  and  con- 
fusion which  they  often  present  to  our  view,  is 
all  clearness  and  order  in  the  sight  of  Him 
who  brings  forward  every  event  in  its  due 
time  and  place.  Whatever  may  liappen  to 
the  true  Christian,  and  whatever  cross-provi- 
dences mav  close  up  the  path  he  is  pursuing, 
he  may  feel  assured  that  it  is  done  in  kind- 
ness to  save  liim  from  evils  of  which  at  pres- 
ent he  has  no  conception 


Ye  fearful  saints  fresh  courapte  take, 
The  clouds  ye  so  much  dread 

Are  big  with  mercy  and  shall  break 
In  blessings  on  your  head. 

His  purposes  will  ripen  fast. 

Unfolding  every  hour; 
The  bud  may  have  a  hitter  taste, 

But  sweet  will  be  the  flower. 


82 


CHRISTIAN     SIMILITUDES. 


1  CORINTn'XS, 
Chap,  xii : 
verse  25. 


GALATIANS, 

Chap,  vi : 
verse  2. 


ROMANS, 

Chap,  xiv: 

verse  7. 


EPHESIANS, 

Chap,   iv: 
verse  25. 


1  CORINTH'NS, 

Chap,  xvi: 

verse  16. 


=  ECCLESIAST'S 

Chap,  iv: 
verse  10. 


ROMANS, 
Chap.  XV : 
verses  1,  2. 


2  CORINTHI'NSf 

Chap,  viii: 
verse  14. 


MUTUAL  DEPENDENCE. 

For  if  they  shall  fall,  the  one  shall  lift  up  his  fellow.     Ecd.  rv: 

10. Look  not  every  man  on  his  own  ihinys,  but  every  man  on 

the  things  of  others.     Phil,  ii:  4. 


Whev  up  the  Alps  the  party  would  ascend, 
Then  each  on  each  for  help  and  strength  depend; 
Close  linked  by  cords,   which  each  and  all  have 

bound, 
They  venture  safely  o'er  the  dangerous  ground; 
If  one  should  slip,  the  cord  that  holds  him  fast, 


Sustains  till  help  arrives,  and  danger's  past. 
Thus,  as  we  walk  on  life's  rude  paths,  we  leant 
That  friend  to  friend  for  help  and  cheer  must 

turn; 
Affection's  cords  in  ties  of  union  blend. 
That  link  them  closely  to  their  journey's  end. 


The  engraving  shows  a  number  of 
travelers  who  are  ascending  Mount 
Bhanc,  sometimes  called  the  giant  of 
the  Swiss  Mountains.  It  is  extremely 
difficult  and  dangerous  to  ascend  its 
summit,  it  being  in  many  places  broken 
into  icy  peaks,  separated  by  chasms  of 
frightful  depths.  vSome  of  these  are 
concealed  by  mere  crusts  of  snow,  over 


which  travelers  are  obliged  to  pass. 
Extremely  narrow  ridges,  slanting  and 
abrupt  declivities,  abound,  where  a  false 
step  would  precipitate  the  passenger,  a 
mangled  corpse,  perhaps,  thousands  of 
feet  below. 

To  prevent  themselves  from  sliding,  or 
falling  to  certain  destruction,  travelers 
on  the  perilous  passage  furnish  them- 


CHEISTIAN     SIMILITUDES 


83 


selves  with  a  long  pole  or  strong  cord. 
Should  any  one  make  a  false  step,  and 
slip,  the  rope  to  which  ho  clings  will 
save  him,  being  held  firmly  by  his  com- 
panions; or  should  he  sink  through  the 
snow  into  some  hidden  chasm,  his  being 
attached  to  the  rope  will  save  him, 
though  he  may,  for  a  time,  be  suspended 
dangling  over  destruction. 

This  representation  is  a  good  emblem 
to  illustrate  the  advantage  of  being 
connected  with  our  fellow-beings  by 
some  bond  of  union.  A  man  who 
walks  by  himself  is  liable  to  many 
dangers,  from  which  he  would  be  pro- 
tected if  his  companions  were  with 
him.  Should  he  stumble  and  break 
his  limbs  by  falling  into  a  pit,  which 
would  prevent  his  effort  to  rise,  how 
lamentable  his  condition;  he  will  starve 
and  die,  unheeded  by  his  fellow-men, 
because  ho  had  no  companions  in  the 
hour  of  his  misfortune. 

It  is  not  always  the  strongest,  phj's- 
ically  or  spiritually,  Avho  seem  or  claim 
to  be  the  strongest,  and  no  man  is  so 
robust  and  vigorous  as  to  be  absolutely 
independent  of  his  fellow-man.  Hence 
the  advantages  and  necessity  of  Chris- 
tian fellowship  and  communion,  where- 
by watch  and  care  are  extended  over 
brethren  and  sisters  in  the  Lord  b}'' 
kindred  spirits.  "Two,"  in  the  words 
of  Solomon,  "  are  better  than  one ;  for 
if  one  shall  fall,  the  other  shall  lift  up 
his  fellow;  but  woe  to  him  who  is 
alone  when  he  fallcth,  for  he  has  none 
to  lift  him  up." 

The  high  importance  of  having  com- 
panions with  us  in  the  hour  of  trial,  is 
also  well  illustrated  by  an  adventure 
of  a  company  of  botanists,  who,  in 
their  explorations,  encountered  a  terrific 
snow-storm  on  the  island  of  Terra  del 
Fuego.  One  of  the  party,  Dr.  Solander, 
aware  of  the  effect  of  extreme  cold  to 
produce  sleep,  and  that  death  would 
ensue  to  the  person  so  overcome,  who 
should  yield  to  it  and  lie  down,  urged 
all  his  companions  by  no  means,  through 


lassitude,  to  stop,  but  keep  moving. 
"Whoever,"  he  told  the  party,  "sits 
down  will  sleep,  and  whoever  sleeps 
will  die." 

The  companions  of  Dr.  Solander 
heeded  his  counsel,  and  it  was  well  for 
him  who  gave  it,  for  by  it  he  himself 
was  saved.  Notwithstanding  the  doc- 
tor's timely  and  judicious  warning,  he 
was  the  first  whose  senses  were  stupi- 
fied,  and  who  sunk  upon  the  ground. 
Death  was  at  hand.  Ilis  companions 
followed  the  direction  of  their  teacher ; 
by  force  they  roused  him  from  his  leth- 
argy, nor  would  not  suffer  him  to  sit 
down,  but  kept  him  moving  until  they 
conducted  him  to  a  place  of  safety. 

In  civil  affairs  it  is  necessary  to  have 
some  bond  of  iinion  to  the  several 
members  of  a  confederacy.  Where 
there  is  none,  nor  sympath}^  with  each 
other,  they  are  peculiarly  exposed  to 
the  attacks  of  insidious  enemies,  who 
can  attack  and  easily  subvert  thorn  iu 
detail.  To  maintain  their  independence, 
and  also  their  individual  safety,  it  is 
necessary  that  each  should  feel  their 
mutual  dependence  on  each  other's  ex- 
ertions for  their  own  and  general  good. 

Many  things  exist  in  our  social  sys- 
tem  which,  at  the  first,  may  seem  to  bo 
useless,  but  which  we  shall  find,  upon 
examination,  to  be  necessary  for  the 
well-being  of  the  whole.  The  Apostle,  in 
his  letter  to  his  Corinthian  brethren,  in 
comparing  the  members  of  the  Church 
with  the  members  of  the  human  body," 
ai-gucs  that  as  all  of  them  arc  dependent 
upon  each  other,  so  all  the  members  of 
the  Christian  Church,  with  their  varied 
talents  and  occupations,  and  even  those 
which  are  lightly  esteemed  are  necessary 
for  the  perfection  of  the  whole. 

The  celebrated  apologue,  or  fable,  of 
.Venenius  Agrippa,  the  Eoman  consul 
and  general,  may  serve  to  illustrate  the 
subject  of  mutual  dependence.  The 
Roman  people  were  led  into  a  state  of 
insurrection  acrainst  their  rulers,  under 
the  pretext  that  they  not  only  had  all 


M 


CHEISTlAN     SIMILITUDES 


the  honors,  but  all  the  emoluments  of 
the  nation,  while  they  were  obliged  to 
bear  all  the  burdens  and  suffer  all  the 
privations.  Matters  were  at  last  brought 
to  such  an  issue  that  their  rulers  were 
obliged  to  flee.  Anarchy  now  pre- 
vailed, the  public  peace  was  broken, 
and  ruin  seemed  impending.  The  con- 
sul and  general,  being,  high  in  the  es- 
teem of  the  insurgents,  was  sent  to 
quiet  these  disturbances.  Having  as- 
sembled the  disorderly  multitude,  he 
addressed  them  in  the  following  man- 
ner: 

"In  that  time  in  which  the  different 
parts  of  the  human  body  were  not  in 
such  a  state  of  unity  as  they  now  are, 
but  each  member  had  its  separate  office 
and  distinct  language ;  they  all  became 
discontented,  because  whatever  was 
procured  by  their  care,  labor,  and  in- 
dustry was  spent  on  the  stomach  and 
intestines,  while  they,  lying  at  ease  in 
the  midst  of  the  body,  did  nothing  but 
enjoy  whatever  was  provided  for  them. 

They,  therefore,  conspired  among 
themselves,  and  agreed  that  the  hands 
should  not  convey  food  to  the  mouth ; 
that  the  mouth  should  not  receive  what 
was  offered  to  it;  and  that  the  teeth 
should  not  masticate  whatever  was 
brought  to  the  mouth.     Acting  on  this 


principle  of  revenge,  and  hoping  to  re- 
duce the  stomach  by  famine,  all  the 
members,  and  the  whole  body  itself, 
were,  at  length,  brought  into  the  last 
stage  of  consumption.  It  then  plainly 
appeared  that  the  stomach  itself  did  no 
small  service ;  that  it  contributed  not 
less  to  their  nourishment  than  they  did 
to  its  support,  distributing  to  every 
part  that  from  which  they  derived  life 
and  vigor;  for,  by  concocting  the  food, 
the  pure  blood  derived  from  it  was 
conveyed  by  the  arteries  to  every  mem- 
ber." 

It  is  easy  to  discern  how  the  consul 
applied  this  fable.  The  sensible  simil- 
itude produced  the  desired  effect.  The 
people  were  convinced  that  it  required 
the  strictest  union  and  mutual  support 
of  high  and  low  to  preserve  the  body 
politic;  that  if  the  members  of  a  com- 
munity refuse  the  government  that 
necessary  aid  which  its  necessities  re- 
quire, they  must  all  perish  together. 


Move,  and  actuate,  and  guide, 
Divers  gifts  to  each  divide ; 
Phvced  according  to  thy  will, 
Let  us  all  our  work  fulfill; 
Never  from  our  office  move, 
Needful  to  each  other  prove. 


CHEISTIAN     SIMILITUDES. 


85 


ZECHAEIAH, 

Chap,  ix: 
verse  12. 


PEUTEEO'MY, 

Chap.  xxxU: 
verse  4.  ''A 


1  SAMUEL, 

Chap,  ii: 
verse  2. 


2  SAMUEL, 

Chap,  xxii: 

verse  47. 


MATTHEW 

Chap,  vii: 

verse  25. 


PSALM 

Ixii: 
verse  7. 


HEBREWS, 
Chap,  vi: 
verse  18. 


DEUTERO'MY, 

Chap,  xxxiii: 

verse  27. 


THE  ROCK  OF  REFUGE. 

An  Mding -'place  from  the  ivind,  and  a  covert  from  the  tempest. 

Isa.  XXXII :  2. The  Lord  is  nw  rock,  and  my  fortress;     .     .     my 

buckler,     .     .     and  my  high  tower.     Ps.  xviii:  2. 


When  the  lone  traveler,  journeying  on  his  way, 

Through  desert  wilds  in  torrid  lands  will  Stray; 

As  sudden  storms  and  hurricanes  arise, 

And  raging  tempests  darken  all  the  skies, 

Quick  to  a  place  of  refuge  he  must  flee; 

No  human  habitation  can  he  see, 

And  soon  no  shelter  would  it  be,  if  found; 


The  furious  winds  will  level  to  the  ground. 
He  may  not  seek  a  shelter  near  the  oak, 
Its  sturdy  trunk  is  broken  by  the  stroke; 
Nearer  and  nearer  howls  the  angry  blast, 
Still  bringing  rain  as  it  rushes  past; 
But  the  great  Rock  against  the  storm  is  sure. 
He  hastens  to  its  clefts,  and  stands  secure. 


The  traveler,  -when  passing  through 
certain  countries  subject  to  hurricanes 
and  tempests,  must,  when  these  arise, 
in  order  to  escape  from  their  fury,  have 
some  place  of  refuge  to  flee  to  and 
hide  himself  from  the  sweeping  storm. 

The  observer  sees  in  the  distance  un- 
mistakable tokens  of  the  angry  tempest 
approaching.      The    clouds,    lowering, 


move  rapidly  onward ;  the  lightnings 
flash,  the  wind  roars,  the  thunder 
growls  near,  and  still  nearer.  The  trav- 
eler is  aff'righted;  he  looks  around  for 
a  covert,  or  place  of  refuge.  He  maj'- 
be  tempted  to  flee  to  some  human 
structure,  but  the  tempest,  which  is  ap- 
proaching, will  sweep  away  every  thing 
constructed  by  the   skiil  or  power  of 


86 


CHRISTIAN"     SIMILITUDES, 


man,  and   all  who  take  refuge  therein 
will  perish  in  its  ruins. 

He  may,  perhaps,  place  confidence  in 
the  sturdy  oak,  which  strikes  its  roots 
dee])  into  the  earth;  he  may  clasp  it 
round,  and,  facing  the  wild  commotion, 
think  to  escape  its  fury,  but  all  in 
vain;  the  monarch  of  the  forest  will/ 
be  laid  prostrate;  its  strong  cords  which 
bound  it  to  the  earth  will  be  broken, 
and  all  who  placed  confidence  in  it  will 
perish  beneath  its  crushed  branches. 

Nothing  can  withstand  the  fury  of 
the  winds  but  the  solid  rock.  The  wise 
traveler  discovers  this,  and  flees  to  it 
for  a  shelter.  AVithin  its  clefts  he  feels 
secure,  though  storms  and  tempests 
rage  without;  his  hiding-place  is  in  the 
everlasting  hills,  which  can  not  be 
moved. 

This  a  striking  similitude  of  the 
safety  of  those  who  trust  in  Christ, 
as  the  Rock  of  their  salvation.  The 
Scriptures  represent  that  there  is  a 
storm  of  indignation  coming,  which 
will  sweep  into  perdition  the  whole 
race  of  ungodly  men.  The  wicked  are 
warned  of  their  danger;  the  clouds  in 
the  distance  are  gathering  blackness; 
they  are  told  that  nothing  will  save 
them  but  fleeing  to  the  Rock.  A  vast 
number  will  not  heed  the  warning, 
will  not  so  much  as  turn  their  eyes  to 
tlie  heavens  to  ascertain  the  truth  of 
what  they  hear;  they  continue,  it  may 
be,  with  their  eyes  fixed  upon  the 
ground  in  gathering  the  little  pebbles 
and  straws  which  lie  before  them,  till 
overwhelmed  by  tiie  storm.  Others 
make  something  else  than  the  Rock 
their  trust,  but  miserably  perish  in  the 
time  of  trial,  while  those  who  heed  the 
warning  flee  to  the  Rock  whose  founda- 
tions are  of  old,  hide  themselves  in  its 
clefts,  and  are  eternally  safe. 

Rock  of  Ages  !  cleft  for  me, 
Let  me  hide  myself  in  thee; 
Let  the  water  and  the  blood, 
From  thy  side,  a  healing  flood, 


Be  of  sin  the  double  cure, 

Save  from  wrath,  and  make  me  pure. 

Should  my  tears  forever  flow, 
Should  my  zeal  no  languor  know, 
This  for  sin  could  not  atone. 
Thou  must  save,  and  thou  alone; 
In  my  hand  no  price  I  bring, 
Simply  to  thy  cross  I  cling. 

While  I  draw  this  fleeting  breath, 
When  mine  eyelids  close  in  deatli, 
When  I  rise  to  worlds  unknown. 
And  behold  thee  on  thy. throne, 
Rock  of  Ages !  cleft  for  me, 
Let  me  hide  myself  in  thee. 

"When  the  Spirit  of  Truth  makes 
inquisition  for  sin,"  says  a  religious 
writer,  "guilt  is  then  felt,  because  man 
beholds  himself  a  child  of  wrath  by 
nature,  and  a  condemned  criminal  by 
means  of  his  practice.  In  this  salutary 
but  unhapp}^  stage  of  things,  he  often 
looks  behind,  and  every  glance  discovers 
blacker  darkness  and  nearer  approach- 
ing storms."  He  looks  around  him;  he 
sees  no  place  of  shelter  in  which  he 
can  confide.  It  is  a  time  of  trouble  and 
dismay.  What  an  unspeakable  com- 
fort to  discover  the  Rock  of  Ages,  to 
which  he  can  flee  for  safety,  and  in  its 
recesses  hide  himself  from  the  sweeping 
tempest — to  find  Jesus  Christ,  the  Savior 
of  sinners,  "a  hiding-place  from  the 
storm,  and  covert  from  the  tempest." 
Safe  in  him,  the  thunders  of  the  broken 
law  may  echo  forth  all  their  condemna- 
tion; safe  in  him,  the  sword  of  vengeance 
and  of  justice,  like  the  fluid  stream, 
may  blaze  on  every  side,  yet  the  soul 
can  rest  secure. 

The  firm  and  , lofty  rock  is  used  in 
various  parts  of  the  Scriptures  as  an 
emblem  of  certain  refuge,  safety,  de- 
fense, and  happiness.  When  the  sun 
pours  down  his  fervid  heat  upon  the 
great  desert,  and  the  traveler  is  faint- 
ing amid  its  burning  sands,  what  more 
refreshing  than  to  repose  beneath  the 
"  shadow  of  a  Great  Rock  in  a  weary 
land." 


CHEISTIAK    SIMILITUDES, 


87 


^^Fly  to  the  Rock!''  is  often  a  necessary 
direction  to  those  who  venture  among 
the  sands  along  the  rocl^y  sea-shore. 
The  traveler  pursuing  his  pathway 
along  the  ii'on-bound  shore,  finding  it 
painful  to  his  feet,  ventures  on  the 
smooth  sands  below.  The  tide  is  out, 
the  sea  is  calm,  the  waves  are  a  long 
way  off;  he  thinks  there  can  be  no 
danger,  so  he  walks  on.  Presently  the 
wind  begins  to  rise;  still  he  thinks 
there  can  be  no  danger,  it  is  only 
rounding  that  jutting  cliff,  there  is 
plenty  of  time,  and  then  he  will  be 
safe.  Meanwhile  the  sea  comes  gradu- 
ally on,  wave  after  wave,  like  so  many 
horsemen  in  battle  array,  riding  one 
after  the  other.  Every  moment  the^' 
advance  a  step  or  two;  and  before  the 
man  has  got  to  the  jutting  cliff,  he  sees 
them  dashing  against  his  feet.  What 
is  be  to  do?  On  one  side  is  a  steep 
and  rugged  ledge  of  rocks ;  on  the 
other  side  the  sea,  which  the  wind  is 
lashing  into  a  storm,  and  is  rushing 
toward  him  in  foaming  fury. 

Would  a  man  in  such  a  plight  think 
of  losing  another  moment?  Would  he 
stop  to  consider  whether  he  should  not 
hurt  his  hands  by  laying  hold  of  the 
sharp  stones?  AV'ould  he  not  strain 
every  nerve  to  reach  a  place  of  safety 
before  the  waves  would  overtake  him? 
If  his  slothfulness  whispered  to  him, 
"It  is  of  no  use,  the  ledge  is  very  steep; 
you  may  fall  back  when  you  have  got 
halfway;  stay  where  you  are,  perhaps 
the  winds  may  lull  and[  the  waves  may 
stop  short,  and  so  you  will  be  safe 
here," — if  his  slothfulness  prompted 
such  thoughts  as  these,  would  ho  listen 


to  them?  Would  he  not  reply,  "Hard 
as  the  task  may  be,  it  must  be  tried,  or 
I  am  a  dead  man.  God  will  not  work 
a  miracle  in  my  behalf;  he  Avill  not 
change  the  course  of  tides  to  savo  mo 
from  the  effects  of  my  own  laziness.  1 
have  few  minutes  left,  let  me  make  the 
most  of  them." 

The  scene  is  not  one  of  mere  fancy. 
Many  accounts  are  given  of  the  risk 
which  has  been  run  by  neglecting  to  flee 
from  a  rising  tide.  Some,  by  great 
efforts,  aided  b}'  God's  providence,  have 
escaped  a  watery  grave;  others  have 
been  overwhelmed,  and  perished  amid 
the  mighty  waters.  The  man  who  is 
about  to  be  overtaken  by  the  flowing 
tide  is  a  similitude  of  the  sinner  away 
from  Christ,  the  Eock  of  Salvation.  On 
one  side  of  him  is  the  steep  ledge  of 
Eepentance ;  on  the  other  the  waves 
of  the  bottomless  pit  arc  every  moment 
rolling  toward  him,  and  even  beginning 
to  surround  his  pathway.  Is  this  a 
situation  for  a  man  to  stop  in?  Will 
anj  one  in  such  a  situation  talk  about 
the  difficulty  of  repentance?  If  wise, 
he  will  not,  but  will  put  forth  all  his 
efforts  to  ascend  the  cliff,  which,  if  he 
accomplishes,  all  will  be  well ;  for  his 
feet  stand  upon  a  firm  foundation, 
against  which  the  angry  wavea  may 
dash  in  vain. 

Whatever  we  do  for  our  salvation 
should  be  done  in  time,  and  with  all 
our  might.  We  ought  not  to  defer  it 
until  we  are  encompassed  with  the 
waves  of  death.  Ilej^ent  now,  there- 
fore; flee  to  the  Rock  of  Ecfugo,  for 
now  is  the  accepted  time,  now  is  the 
day  of  salvation. 


88 


CHEISTIAN     SIMILITUDES. 


PEOYEEBS, 

Chap,  xxviii: 

verse  26. 


ECCLESIASTS, 
Chap,  x: 
verse  3. 


PSALM 
Ixxxii : 
verse  5- 


ACTS, 

Chap,  xvii 

verse  30. 


EOMANS, 

Chap.  X : 

verse  3. 


2  PETER, 

Chap,  iii : 

verses  3,  4. 


ECCLESIAST'S, 

Chap,  viii: 

verse  11. 


COLOSSIANS, 
Chap,  ii: 
verse  8. 


IGNORANCE  AND  FALSE  PHILOSOPHY. 

The  way  of  a  fool  is  right  in  his  own  eyes.  Prov.  xii : 
Professing  themselves  to  be  raise,  they  became  fools.  Rom.  i 
Without  understajiding.     Rom.  i :  31. 


15.- 

99  . 


Mistaken  fool,  who  with  the  candle's  li^ht, 

Would  view  the  dial's  ligures  in  the  night; 

He  seems  to  know  not  that  the  sun's  bright  ray 

Must  cast  the  shade  that  marks  the  hour  of  day. 

Another  proof  of  ignorance  is  plain, 

The  boy  who  would  the  shining  moon  obtain; 

He  sees  the  glittering  object  in  the  skies, 


And  all  in  vain  to  grasp  the  treasure  tries; 

The  barking  dog,  with  human  sense  unblest, 
Seems  here  to  share  the  folly  of  the  rest. 
Near  by,  a  structure  more  for  show  than  use, 
T!,ssa.ys  perpetual  motion  to  produce. 
Mistaken  all,  their  ignorance  is  plain, 
For  false  philosophy  must  toil  in  vain. 


A  person  claiming  to  be  a  philosopher, 
is  endeavoring  to  ascertain  the  time  of 
night  by  the  sun-dial.  He  understands 
that  the  true  time  is  ascertained  by  the 
shade  which  is  cast  on  certain  figures 
from  the  upright  part  of  the  dial.  This 
is  perfectly  true,  but  this  shade  is  only 
cast  when  the  sun  is  shining  bright  and 


clear  ;  moonlight  or  candle-light  is  of  no 
avail;  it  is  worse  than  none,  as  it  will 
mislead  all  who  trust  in  it.  Of  this  all- 
essential  fact  this  philosopher  appears 
to  be  in  profound  ignorance;  he  even 
holds  up  a  candle  to  assist  him  in  his 
investigations. 

On  the  right  of  the  engraving  is  seen 


CHRISTIAN     SIMILITUDES. 


89 


an  ignorant  boy,  crying  out  for  the  moon, 
which  looks  so  bright  that  he  is  quite 
captivated  by  its  appearance,  and  he 
thinks  he  can  almost  reach  it  with  the 
rod  he  has  in  his  hand.  The  dog  that  is 
near  him  is  also  attracted  by  its  bright 
appearance ;  perhaps  he  thinks  it  is  a 
strj,nger  wlio  is  approaching  him ;  he 
therefore  gives  a  bark  of  defiance.  On 
the  left,  near  the  sun-dial,  is  an  appa- 
ratus for  producing  perpetual  ^notion — 
the  great  desideratum  among  inventors. 
Our  philosopher  has  spent  considerable 
time  over  it,  and  feels  confident  that  he 
has  nearly,  if  not  quite,  accomplished  his 
object. 

To  ascertain  what  is  truth  respecting 
the  progress  of  time,  it  is  necessary  that 
we  have  the  light  of  the  sun,  as  we  can 
not  place  any  dependence  on  any  inferior 
luminary.  No  confidence  can  be  placed 
in  the  light  of  the  moon,  although  bor- 
rowing what  light  it  has  from  the  sun. 
In  a  religious  sense,  would  we  gain  a 
knowledge  of  the  truth,  we  must  have 
light  from  the  Father  of  Light,  the 
great  moral  Sun  of  the  universe.  Do 
we  trust  in  the  light  of  our  own  under- 
standing merely?  we  make  ourselves 
fools,  Uke  unto  the  philosopher  repre- 
sented with  the  candle  in  his  hand, 
standing  over  a  sun-dial.  And  if  we 
expect  to  derive  any  valuable  or  saving 
knowledge  except  from  the  Great  Light 
above  ihe  centre  of  the  universe,  we 
show  our  ignorance  and  folly  as  much 
as  the  child  who  expects  to  reach,  by 
his  puny  efforts,  one  of  the  luminous 
objects   in   the   heavens. 

In  all  our  investigations  in  search  of 
truth,  we  must  do  it  in  the  light  of  cer- 
tain great  principles,  or  facts.  We  must 
believe  in  a  God  who  overrules  and 
sui)erintends  all  things;  that  he  is  a 
holy,  just,  and  good  being,  wlio  will  pun- 
ish the  wicked  and  reward  the  righteous. 
We  must  have  an  entire  faith  in  the 
Revelation  which  he  has  given  us  in  his 
Word;  what  it  teaches  concerning  the 
attributes   or  character   of    God,   or   that 


of  ourselves,  we  must  believe,  however 
opposed  to  our  previous  notions  or  con- 
clusions. Those  nations  who  have  never 
known  the  divine  Scriptures,  or  rejected 
the  light  of  Christianity,  have  become 
vain  or  foolish  in  their  imaginations  or 
reasonings. 

Speaking  of  the  wisest  of  the  ancient 
philosophers,  not  even  excepting  Hocra- 
tes,  Plato,  or  Seneca,  "  who,"  says  an 
eminent  commentator,  "can  read  their 
works  without  being  struck  with  the 
vanity  of  their  reasoning,  as  well  as 
with  the  stupidity  of  their  nonsense, 
when  speaking  of  God  ?  .  .  .  In  short, 
'  professing  themselves  to  be  wise,  they 
became  fools;'  they  sought  God  in  the 
place  in  which  he  is  never  to  be  found, 
viz.  :  the  corrupting  passions  of  their 
own  hearts.  ...  A  dispassionate  ex- 
amination of  the  doctrines  and  Hves  of 
the  most  famed  philosophers* of  anticpiity, 
will  show  that  they  were  darkened  in 
their  mind  and  irregular  in  their  con- 
duct. It  was  from  the  Christian  religion 
alone  that  true  philosophers  sprung," 

It  is  true  that  many  of  the  heathen 
nations  acknowledge  the  great  truth 
that  there  is  a  Supreme  Being;  but  view- 
ing him  in  the  light  of  their  own  under- 
standing, they,  by  there  false  philosophy, 
brought  themselves  to  believe  that  he 
was  a  being  like  unto  themselves.  The 
finest  representation  of  their  deities, 
(for  they  had  many,)  was  in  the  human 
figure ;  and  on  such  representative 
figures  the  sculptors  spent  all  their  skill ; 
hence  the  Hurcules  of  Farnese,  the  Venus 
of  Mediciti,  and  the  Apollo  of  Belcidere. 
And  when  they  had  formed  tiieir  gods 
according  to  the  humon  shape,  they  en- 
dowed them  with  human  passions ;  and 
as  they  clothed  them  with  extraordinary 
strength,  beauty,  wisdom,  etc.,  not  hav- 
ing the  true  principles  of  morality,  they 
rei)resented  them  as  slaves  to  the  most 
disorderly  passions,  excelling  in  irregu- 
larities the  most  profligate  of  men,  as 
possessing  unlimited  powers  of  sensual 
gratification.     .   .   .     IIow    men    of    such 


90 


CHRISTIAN     SIMILITUDES. 


powers  and  learning,  as  many  of  the 
Greek  and  Roman  philosophers  and  poets 
really  were,  could  reason  so  inconsecu- 
tively,  is  truly  astonishing." 

Previous  to  the  Christian  era,  and 
even  now  where  the  light  of  Christianity 
does  not  shine,  almost  every  trace  of 
original  righteousness  has  been  obliter- 
ated. So  completely  lost  were  the  hea- 
then to  a  knowledge  of  the  influence  of 
God  upon  the  soul,  and  the  necessity  of 
that  influence,  they,  according  to  their 
false  philosophy,  asserted,  in  the  most 
pathetic  manner,  that  man  was  the  au- 
thor of  his  own  virtue  and  wisdom. 
Thus  Cicero,  the  Roman  orator,  declares 
it  to  be  a  general  opinion  that  although 
mankind  receive  from  the  gods  the  out- 
ward conveniences  of  life,  "but  virtue 
none  ever  thought  they  had  received 
from  the  Deity."  And  again:  "This  is 
the  persuasion  of  all,  that  fortune  is  to 
be  had  from  the  gods — wisdom  from  our- 
selves." And  again:  "Who  ever  thanked 
the  gods  for  his  being  a  good  man?  Men 
pi-ay  to  Jupiter,  not  that  he  would  make 
them  just,  temperate,  and  wise,  but  rich 
and  prosperous." 

The  consequences  of  adopting  as  truth 
other  systems  than  that  which  is  derived 
from  the  light  that  cometh  from  above, 
is  forcibly  described  by  Paul  in  the  1st 
chapter  of  Romans:  "A  vain  or  false 
philosophy,  without  right  principle  or 
end,  was  substituted  for  those  diverse 
truths  which  had  been  discovered  origi- 
nally to  man.     Their  hearts  had  been 


contaminated  by  every  vice  that  could 
blind  the  understanding,  pervert  the 
judgment,  corrupt  the  will,  and  debase 
the  aft'ections  and  passions.  This  was 
proved,  in  the  most  unequivocal  manner, 
by  a  profligacy  of  conduct  which  had 
debased  them  far,  far  below  the  beasts 
that  perish."  The  Apostle  here  gives  a 
list  of  their  crimes,  every  article  of 
which  can  be  incontrovertibly  proved 
fi"om  their  own  history  and  their  own 
writers — crimes  which,  even  bad  as  the 
world  is  now,  would  shock  common  de- 
cency to  describe. 

In  more  modern  times,  several  systems 
have  been  introduced  into  the  world  for 
the  improvement  of  the  human  race:  by 
gathering  them  into  communities,  fixing 
several  fixed  rules  of  government,  etc, 
which,  could  they  be  fully  adopted  and  fol  - 
lowed,  it  would  seem  quite  possible  that 
they  might  succeed ;  but  by  rejecting  the 
prominent  truth,  that  man  is  naturally 
a  depraved  creature,  and  discarding  a 
Divine  Revelation,  the  only  light  b}^ 
which  truth  is  discovered,  almost  with- 
out an  exception,  every  one  of  these  at- 
tempts have  proved  miserable  failures. 
The  founders  of  these  systems  are  like 
the  philosopher  who  attempts  to  find  out 
the  true  time  by  the  light  of  the  moon, 
or  the  attempt  of  the  boy  with  his  rod 
to  reach  that  luminary,  or  like  the  in- 
ventor who  constructs  a  machine  for 
perpetual  motion,  expecting  that  it  will 
move  continually  by  its  own  unaided 
force. 


CHEISTIAN     SIMILITUDES 


9i 


JOHN', 
Chap,  i: 
verse  5. 


PSALM 

xcvii : 

verse  2. 


JOB, 
Chap,  xxxvi:       ^g 
verse  26. 


PSALM 

cxiv : 
verse  3. 


PSALM 

cxlvii: 
verse  5. 


2  PETER, 

Chap,  iii: 

verse  8. 


PSALM 

cxxxix: 

verses  7,  10. 


EEYELATION, 

Chap,  xxii: 

verse  13. 


THE  INCOMPREHENSIBLE. 

Canst  thou,   by  searching,  find  out  God?    Job  xi:  7. Wldch 

is,  and  which  was,  and  ivhich  is   to  come.     Rev.  i:  8. 0,  the 

depth     .     .     of  the  wisdom  of    God,  how  unsearchable  his  judg- 
ments, and  his  ways  past  finding  out.     Rom.  xi:  33. 


In  vain  the  sages,  with  their  utmost  skill. 

Would  find  out  God — he  is  mysiery  still  1 

In  vain  they  search  the  page  of  ancient  lore, 

In  vain  the  scrolls  of  centuries  past  explore. 

The  mystic  circle  and  triangle  see, 

The  types  that  shadow  forth  Infinity — 

The  circle,  endless  as  eternity, 

And  the  triangle  showing  one  in  three. 


Without  beginning,  past  their  finding  out; 
In  vain  they  seek  to  solve  perplexing  doubt: 
Wearied  with  search,  at  last  one  looks  above, 
When  lo!  a  ray  of  heavenly  truth  and  love 
Steals  softly  downward  to  his  darkened  mind. 
Seeming  to  say.  All  earthly  light  is  blind; 
Leave,  then,  the  paths  of  human  senrch  untrod, 
Content  to  know  and  feel  the  love  of  God, 


The  engraving  is  intended  to  repre- 
sent the  philosophers  of  various  ages, 
closely  engaged  in  poring  over  the 
manuscripts  and  books  which  contain 
the  records  of  human  thought,  ancient 
and  modern,  upon  the  being  and  attri- 
butes of  God.  The  systems  of  Pythag- 
oras,  Plato,   Zeno,    aud   other   ancient 


philosophers,  are  being  examined;  also 
the  various  systems  of  modern  times. 
Above  the  group  are  seen  the  emblems 
of  that  Being  of  whose  nature  the}'  are 
so  earnestly  searching  out.  A  circle  is 
represented,  showing  that  he  is  without 
beginning;  a  triangle  is  also  seen,  show- 
1  ing  three  in  one,  and  one  of  three. 


92 


CHEISTIAN    SIMILITUDES. 


Among  the  philosojjhers  represented, 
one  luis  come  to  a  stand;  he  appears 
to  have  been  almost  wearied  out  in  his 
searchings,  and  has  laid  aside  his  man- 
uscripts and  books.  He  is  convinced 
that  all  human  theories  are  utterly  in- 
competent to  describe  the  being  and  the 
attributes  of  God.  Despairing  of  all 
help  from  man,  he  looks  upward,  as  if 
to  implore  assistance  from  the  Divine 
Being.  In  answer  to  humble  prayer 
beams  of  light  and  glory  descend  from 
above.  lie  believes;  his  soul  is  filled; 
he  loves  and  adores  1  but  he  compre- 
hends not. 

"Without  beginning!  O,  how  incom- 
prehensible, how  overwhelming  the 
thought !  Ileason  is  amazed,  bewildered, 
but  she  is  forced  to  believe.  Else  why 
are  we  here?  Some  being  must  have 
made  ns,  and  all  that  we  see  or  hear; 
and  he  that  made  us  must  himself  be 
unmade — he  that  is  unmade  must  bo 
eternal,  or  without  beginning  ;  and  that 
which  is  before  all  things,  and  without 
beginning  is  the  incomprehensible  God. 

The  great  and  glorious  being  whom 
we  call  God  must  be  eternal.  There 
must  have  been  a  time  when  he  existed 
alone,  and  there  was  never  a  time  when 
he  did  not  exist.  As  God  has  existed 
eternally  in  the  past,  so  he  will  exist 
in  the  eternity  to  come.  "No  possible 
reason,"  says  one,  "can  be  given  why 
he  should  cease  to  be.  There  is  no 
greater  being  upon  whom  he  is  depend- 
ent for  existence,  or  who  could  take  it 
away;  and  in  his  nature  or  essence 
there  is  no  principle  of  decay.  The 
eternity  of  God,  comprehending  the 
past  as  well  as  the  future,  is  thus  ex- 
pressed by  the  inspired  writer  :  "  Before 
the  mountains  were  brought  forth,  or 
ever  thou  hadst  formed  the  earth  and 
the  world,  even  from  everlasting  to 
everlasting  thou  art  God." 

Although  angels  and  human  spirits 
may  exist  in  the  eternity  to  come,  yet 
there  is  an  important  difference  in  the 
nature  of  their  existence  from  that  of 


the  Deity.  They  are  not  necessarily 
immortal,  and  there  is  no  contradiction 
or  absurdity  in  supposing  them  to  be 
annihilated,  or  struck  out  of  existence. 
There  was  a  time  when  tliey  were  not, 
"and  all  that  can  be  said  of  them  is," 
says  a  celebrated  writer,  "that  having 
begun,  they  shall  never  cease  to  exist. 
Their  life  will  flow  on  without  inter- 
mission, and  they  will  ever  continue  in 
a  progressive  state.  Their  continuance 
in  life  is  the  result  of  the  Avill  of  their 
Creator;  and  besides,  if  we  may  so  speak, 
they  have  only  a  half  an  eternity  al- 
lotted to  them  as  their  portion,  the 
half  which  is  to  come;  while  eternal 
ages  had  passed  away  before  they  were 
called  out  of  nothing." 

The  existence  of  God  is  not  like  that 
of  his  creatures,  progressive,  but  com- 
prehends what  we  call  the  past,  the 
present,  and  the  future.  These  are  the 
divisions  of  time ;  but  the  first  and  the 
last  have  no  place  in  the  duration  of 
the  Supreme  Being.  The  revelation 
given  us  in  the  Bible  confirms  the  nat- 
ural dictates  of  our  reason,  in  the  ac- 
counts which  it  gives  us  of  the  exist- 
ence of  God;  where  it  tells  us  that  he  is 
the  same  yesterday,  to-day,  and  forever; 
that  he  is  the  Alpha  and  the  Omega, 
the  beginning  and  the  ending;  that  a 
thousand  years  with  him  are  as  one 
day,  and  one  day  as  a  thousand  years. 
By  expressions  like  these  we  are  taught 
that  the  existence  of  God,  as  to  time 
and  duration,  is  totally  different  from 
that  of  his  creatures,  which  fact  makes 
it  incomprehensible  to  any  created  be- 
ing. 

In  a  being  who  had  no  beginning, 
succession  or  progression  is  impossible. 
"We  can  conceive  a  future  infinite  suc- 
cession, or  line  continually  extending; 
but  we  can  not  conceive  a  past  infinite 
succession,  or  a  time  which  had  not  a 
beginning.  ""Whatever  difficulty  we 
may  have  in  annexing  an  idea  to  our 
words,"  says  Dr.  D'ck,  "we  must  pro- 
nounce the  eternity  of  God   to  be  sta- 


CHEISTIAN    SIMILITUDES. 


93 


tionary,  and  not  like  ours,  in  motion." 
It  may  be  objected  that  there  is  in  tlie 
Scriptures  expressions  by  which  his 
eternity  is  described  b}^  differences  in 
time,  particularly  that  which  describes 
him  as  one  "who  was,  and  is,  and  is  to 
come."  But  it  may  be  answered  that 
human  language  is  imperfect,  and  that 
there  are  no  words  which  can  properly 
express  the  stable  nature  of  his  eternity, 
and  when  we  speak  of  it  we  are  under 
the  necessity  of  using  words  in  common 
use  founded  on  the  divisions  of  time. 
From  this  cause,  also,  when  we  speak 
of  the  other  perfections  of  God,  we  have 
to  use  terms  which  attribute  corporeal 
members  and  human  nlTcctions  to  the 
Deity;  thus,  The  eye  of  the  Lord  is  over 
all;  his  hand  is  stretched  out;  he  is  angnj 
with  the  wicked,  etc. 

With  regard  to  space — the  creation 
of  God — what  is  its  extent?  Where  is 
its  beginning  or  ending?  These  ques- 
tions force  themselves  upon  us;  we  are 
bewildered;  they  are  incomprehensible 
as  Deity  itself  "Where,"  says  a  cele- 
brated writer,  "is  the  region  in  which 
God  may  not  be  found?  Go  to  the 
most  dismal  spot  upon  the  globe — to  a 
spot,  if  such  there  be,  where  no  plant 
grows,  where  no  creature  breathes;  in 
this  lone  solitude  you  shall  find  him  in 
the  eternal  snow  which  covers  it,  in 
the  rocks  which  rear  their  dark  pinna- 
cles to  the  sk}',  and  in  the  waves  which 
beat  upon  its  desolate  shores!"  Go 
into  the  wilderness,  where  no  human 
foot  has  trod,  and  j'ou  shall  see  him  in 
every  thing  which  lives — the  bird  that 
sings  among  the  branches,  the  waving 
grass,  and  beauteous  flowers,  all  live, 
move,  and  have  their  being  in  him! 
Look  up  to  the  heavens!  behold  the 
shining  stars,  who  can  number  them? 
Who  lit  up  the  fires  with  which  they 
glow?  who  guides  them  in  their  course 
but  the  same  Being  whoso  center  is 
evcry-wherc,  and  whoso  circumference 
is  nowhere? 

Who,  by  searcliin;;,  can  find  out  God?  who 


can  find  out  tlie  Ahiiighty  to  perfection?  We 
feel  assured  that  he  possesses  certain  attri- 
butes which  we  designate  by  names  by  which 
we  distinguish  certain  excellencies  among  men. 
We  ascribe  to  him  every  idea  of  virtue  and 
spiritual  beauty  exalted  to  infinite  perfection. 
"But  how,"  says  another  writer,  "the  Divine 
Being  himself  exists  in  an  essential  and  eternal 
nature  of  his  own;  how  he  can  be  present  at 
the  same  moment  every-where;  how,  unseen 
and  unfelt  by  all,  he  can  maintain  tlie  most 
perfect  acquaintance  and  contact  with  all  parts 
and  portions  of  the  universe;  how  he  can  be 
at  once  all  eye,  all  ear,  all  presence,  all  energy, 
yet  not  interfere  with  any  of  the  thoughts  and 
actions  of  his  creatures,  this  is  what  bafflee 
the  mightiest  anil  meanest  intellect;  this  is  the 
great  mystery  of  the  universe,  which  is  at  onco 
one  of  the  most  certain  and  incomprehensiblo 
of  all  things — a  truth  at  once  enveloped  in  a 
flood  of  light,  and  an  abyss  of  darkness!  In. 
explicable  itself,  it  explains  all  beside  ;  it  cast^ 
a  clearness  on  every  question,  accounts  fb/ 
every  phenomenon,  solves  every  problem,  il . 
luminates  every  depth,  and  renders  the  wholvj 
mystery  of  existence  perfectly  simple,  as  it  is 
otherwise  perfectly  intelligible,  while  itself 
a/owe  remains  in  impenetrable  obscurity  !  After 
displacing  eve'-y  other  difficulty,  it  remains,  the 
greatest  of  all,  in  solitary,  insurmountable,  un- 
approachable grandeur  I  So,  truly,  '  clouds  and 
sunshine  are  round  about  him.  He  maketh 
darkness  his  secret  habitation;  his  pavilion  to 
cover  him,  thick  clouds.' 

"We  ascend  from  eff'ects  to  look  at  the 
cause  of  them;  from  the  marks  of  contrivance 
and  design  to  the  necessary  existence  of  an 
Almighty  Contriver.  But  what  sort  of  being 
he  is,  and  what  is  the  nature  of  his  contact 
with  his  creatures,  must,  in  the  present  state 
at  least,  remain  an  unfathomable  mystery. 
We  are  utterly  at  a  loss  in  all  such  specula- 
tions; yet  this  aflbrds  no  diminution  of  the 
motives  of  piety.  Our  belief  in  the  being  of 
a  God  13  the  belief  of  a  profound  mystery. 
The  very  idea  of  such  a  being  would  appear 
incredible  were  it  not  that  it  is  neces.-^ary,  be- 
cause the  greatest  absurdities  would  flow  from 
supposing  the  contrary.  Nothing  can  be  ac- 
counted for  unless  we  admit  of  tlie  existence 
of  a  causeless  cause — a  presiding  Governor  of 
the  universe.  We  are  compelled,  therefore,  to 
choose  the  less  difficulty  of  the  two;  or,  rather, 
to  choose  difficulty  instead  of  impo.-^sibility, 
mystery  instead  of  "absurdity ;  and,  hence,  we 
repose  on  this  grand  IruUx." 


94 


CHEISTIAN     SIMILITUDES, 


MATTHEW, 

Chap,  xvi : 

verse  18. 


ISAIAH, 
Chap,  liv: 
verse  17. 


EPHESIANS, 

Chap,  iii: 


verse  10.         ^^^^ja 


EPHESIAXS, 
Chap,  v: 
verse  23. 


ACTS, 

Chap.  XX : 

verse  28. 


PSALM 

Ixxxiv: 

verses  1-10. 


EEVELATIO:Nr, 
Chap,  iii: 
verse  12. 


ISAIAH, 

Chap,  ii: 
verses  2,  3. 


THE  CHRISTIAN  CHURCH. 


Upon  this  rock  I  will  build  my  Church 
are   GocVs   building.     1  Cor.  iii :  9. 


Matt,  xvi:  18. Ye 

Which   is  the  Church  of 
thelicing  God, the  pillar  and  ground  of  the  Truth.     1  Tim.  in:  15. 


She  here  the  temple,  based  on  Christian  love, 
No  tempest  can  its  firm  foundations  move; 
Sure  is  the  rock,  though  billows  dash  around, 
Its  sacred  dome  by  endless  love  is  crowned. 
The  glorious  light  above  doth  brightly  shine, 


And  shed  o'er  all  its  influence  divine; 

Though  storms  may  heat,  and  angry  billows  dash 

Around  the  rock,  and  dreadful  lightnings  flash, 

It  stands  upon  the  Eternal  Word  secure, 

To  last  while  endless  ages  shall  endure. 


The  Church  of  God,  and  even  individ- 
ual Christians,  are  compared  to  a  build- 
ing, or  temple.  The  Church  is  founded 
on  God's  truth,  represented  in  the  en- 
graving by  a  rock  in  mid-ocean.  The 
Christian  Chorch,  or  temple,  has  seven 


or  more  pillars,  on  which  are  inscribed 
various  Christian  graces.  It  will  be  per- 
ceived that  Love  is  at  the  foundation;  and 
it  too  crowns  the  temple.  The  emblems 
of  the  Deity  are  seen  above  all,  and  a 
sacred  influence  descends   from   above. 


CHEISTIAK    SlillLITTJDES. 


95 


The  temple  is  surmounted  by  a  cross, 
which  is,  in  a  religious  sense,  the  prom- 
inent object  to  be  set  forth  in  all  Chris- 
tian assemblies. 

Back  from  the  temple  the  angry  ele- 
ments are  in  commotion;  the  lightnings 
flash,  the  thunders  roar,  and  the  billows 
swell,  dash,  and  foam,  but  the  rock,  and 
the  temple  founded  upon  it,  will  remain 
secure.  So  the  truth  of  God,  and  what- 
ever is  founded  upon  it,  will  stand  for- 
ever, though  storms  of  opposition,  fiery 
tempests  and  dashing  billows  roar 
around. 

The  Christian  Church  is  defined  to  be 
the  "whole  system  of  Christianity,  as 
laid  down  in  the  New  Testament,  and 
built  on  the  foundation  of  prophets  and 
apostles,  Jesus  Christ  himself  being  the 
chief  corner-stone.  It  is  composed  of 
all  who  hold  the  doctrines  of  Christian- 
ity, who  acknowledge  Jesus  as  their 
chief  Teacher  and  only  Advocate,  and 
of  all  who  love  God  with  all  their  heart, 
soul,  mind,  and  strength,  and  their 
neighbor  as  themselves,  or  are  laboring 
after  this  conformity  to  the  mind  and 
commands  of  their  Creator. 

It  is  not  known  by  any  particular 
name;  it  is  not  distinguished  by  any  par- 
ticular/or??i  in  its  mode  of  worship  ;  it  is 
not  exclusively  here  or  there.  It  is  the 
house  or  temple  of  God;  it  is  where 
(rod's  spirit  dwells,  where  his  precepts 
are  obeyed,  and  where  pure,  unadulter- 
a.ted  love  to  God  and  man  prevails  ;  it  is 
not  in  the  creed  nor  religious  confessions 
iff  any  denomination  of  Christians,  for 
as  all  who  hold  the  truth  and  live  a  holy 
life,  acknowledging  Jesus  alone  as  the 
head  of  the  Church  and  Savior  of  the 
world,  are  members  of  his  mystical 
body — and  such  may  be  found  in  all 
sects  and  parties — so  the  Church  of  Christ 
may  be  said  to  be  every-wherc,  and  to 
be  confined  nowhere,  in  whatever  place 
Christianity  is  credited  and  acknowl- 
edged. The  wicked  of  all  sorts,  no  mat- 
ter what  their  professions  may  be,  or  to 
what  order  or  denomination  they  may 


belong,  they  are  without  the  pale  of  the 
Christian  Church. 

Seven  of  the  Christian  graces,  which 
may  be  considered  as  pillars  in  the 
Christian  temple,  or  Church,  are  Faith, 
Virtue,  Hope,  Godliness,  Knowledge, 
Patience,  and  Temperance. 

Faith,  the  first  in  order,  is  a  promi- 
nent pillar,  and  to  which  all  the  others 
are  conformed.  It  is  sometimes  used  to 
designate  the  whole  of  the  Christian 
system. 

Virtue  has  been  variously  defined  by 
commentators.  B3'  some  it  is  said  to  be 
the  doing  of  good  to  mankind,  in  obedi- 
ence to  the  will  of  God,  and  for  the  sake 
of  everlasting  happiness  ;  others,  that  it 
denotes  that  courage  or  fortitude  which 
enables  one  to  profess  the  Christian  faith 
before  men,  in  all  times  of  persecution. 

Hope  is  one  of  the  strong  pillars  in 
the  Christian  temple  ;  when  we  are  in 
trouble  or  affliction,  the  hope  of  happi- 
ness and  glory  hereafter  sustains  us  in 
our  present  trials,  and  relieves  us,  in  a 
great  measure,  from  the  dread  of  those 
to  come. 

Godliness,  strictly  taken,  is  right  wor- 
ship or  devotion.  It  is  difiicult,  as  one 
observes,  to  include  an  adequate  idea  of 
it  in  what  is  called  a  definition.  "It 
supposes  knowledge,  veneration,  aff'ec- 
tion,  dependence,  submission,  gratitude, 
and  obedience;  or  it  may  be  reduced  to 
these  four  ideas:  knowledge  in  the  mind, 
by  which  it  is  distinguished  from  the 
visions  of  the  superstitious;  rectitude 
in  the  conscience,  that  distinguishes  it 
from  hypocrisy;  sacrifice  in  life,  or  re- 
nunciation of  the  world,  by  which  it  is 
distinguished  from  the  unmeaning  obedi- 
ence of  him  who  goes  as  a  happy  con- 
stitution leads  him;  and,  lastly,  ^taHn 
the  heart,  which  differs  from  the  Ian- 
guishing  emotion  of  the  lukewarm."' 

Knowledge  denotes  learning,  or  the 
improvement  of  our  faculties  b}'  read- 
ing, observation,  and  conversation;  ex- 
perience, or  the  acquiring  new  ideas  or 
truths,  by  seeing  a  variety  of  objects, 


96 


CHEISTIAN     SIMILITUDES. 


and  making  observations  upon  them  in 
our  own  mind.  Religious,  saving  knowl- 
edge consists  in  veneration  for  the  Di- 
vine Being,  love  to  him  as  an  object  of 
beauty  and  goodness,  humble  confi- 
dence in  his  mercy  and  promises,  and 
sincere,  uniform,  and  persevering  obedi- 
ence to  his  Word.  It  maj^  be  further 
considered  as  a  knowledge  of  God,  of  his 
love,  faithfulness,  power,  etc.  Knowl- 
edge will  also  enable  us  to  instruct  and 
benefit  mankind,  and  we  thus  may  be- 
come truly  a  pillar  in  the  temple  of 
God. 

Patience^  bearing  all  trials  and  afflic- 
tions with  an  even  mind  :  enduring  in 
all,  and  persevering  through  all,  an  im- 
portant and  ornamental  pillar  in  the 
Christian  temple.  "Patience,"  says  an 
eminent  writer,  "  is  apt  to  be  ranked  by 
many  among  the  more  humble  and  ob- 


scure virtues,  belonging  chiefly  to  those 
who  groan  on  a  sick  bed,  or  who  lan- 
guish in  a  prison  ;  but  in  every  circum- 
stance of  life  no  virtue  is  more  impor- 
tant both  to  duty  and  happiness."  It 
must  enter  into  the  temper,  and  form 
the  habit  of  the  soul,  if  we  would  prop 
erly  sustain  the  Christian  character. 

Temperance.,  a  proper  and  limited  use 
of  all  earthly  enjoyments,  keeping  every 
sense  under  proper  restraints,  and  never 
permitting  the  animal  part  to  overcome 
the  rational.  Sobriety  may  be  properly 
included  under  the  head  of  this  virtue, 
and  is  both  the  ornament  and  defense  of 
the  Christian.  Sobriety  is  a  security 
against  the  bad  influence  of  turbulent 
passions.  It  is  necessary  for  the  young 
and  the  old,  for  the  rich  and  the  poor, 
for  the  wise  and  the  illiterate — all  need 
to  be  sober  and  temperate. 


CIIRISTIAN     SIMILITUDES, 


97 


ACTS, 
Chap,  vii: 
verse  43. 


JOB, 
Chap,  v: 
verso  3. 


PSALM 

Ixxiv: 
verse  20, 


GENESIS, 

Chap,  xlix 

verse  6. 


EEVELATION. 

Chap,  xviii: 

verso  2. 


REVELATION", 

Chap,  ii:  [( 

verse  13.  ,/^^s^^^2r^-"^^^K 


ISAIAH, 

Chap,  xiv : 
verse  23. 


ISAIAH, 

Chap,   xxviii: 

verso  17. 


THE  SYNAGOGUE  OF  SATAN. 

Which  say  they  are  Jews  and  are  not,  hut  are  the  Synagogue  of 

Satan.     Rev.  ii :  9. The  floods  came  and  the  loinds  blew  and 

beat  upon  that  house;  and  it  fell.     Matt,  vii:  27. 


The  Synagogue  of  Satan  here  appears, 

On  crumbling  sands  the  tottering  structure  rears 

Its  trembling  columns,  which  their  roof  uplift, 

AVhile  raging  billows  round  it  madly  drift. 

No  tapering  spires  that  seem  to  cleave  the  skies, 

Pointing  to  Heaven,  from  out  its  I'oof  arise ; 


Only  an  earthly  globe  full  soon  to  fall, 
While  folly  writes  her  characters  o'er  all. 
On  Unbelief  the  superstructure  stands, 
A  tottering  fabric  reared  on  trembling  sands; 
While  underneath  their  burden  soon  give  way 
The  work  of  Satan,  fit  but  for  decay. 


As  there  is  u  Christian  Church  amonf^ 
men,  so  the  great  Adversary  of  God  and 
mankind  has  his  church,  or  s^'nagogue, 
in  the  world.  It,  however,  stands  on  a 
different  foundation  ;  its  form  is  differ- 
ent, and  is  also  constructed  of  different 
materials.  Among  the  prominent  pil- 
hvrs,  or  columns,  are  the  Lust  of  the 
Flesh,  Lust  of  tbe  Eye,  Pride  of  Life, 
25 


Self-will,  etc.  Hatred  of  the  truth  may 
be  considered  as  the  foundation  of  this 
synagogue ;  on  this  are  the  columns 
raised.  The  roof,  or  covering,  of  the 
structure  is  Selfishness;  this  is  sur 
mounted  by  a  terrestrial  globe,  emblem 
atical  of  the  nature  of"  the  building, 
showing  that  it  is  erected  for  no  other 
object  than  what  relates  to  this  world. 


98 


CHRISTIAN     SIMILITUDIi:S. 


The  SjMiagogiiG  of  Satan  stands  on  the 
sandy  foundation  of  Unbelief  A  flood 
and  tempest  has  arisen.  The  surges 
beat  upon  the  sandy  foundation ;  it  wears 
away;  the  pillars  tremble  and  fall;  the 
building  ci-acks  in  pieces,  tumbles  into 
ruin,  and  the  overflowing  flood  will  soon 
sweep  the  last  vestige  away. 

A  hatred  of  Christian  Truth  lies  at  the 
foundation  of  the  unbelief  of  the  unrc- 
generatc  human  heart.  Ho  that  doeth 
evil,  hatcth  the  light,  and  will  not  come  to 
it  lest  his  deeds  should  bo  reproved.  He 
shuns  the  places  where  the  truth  is  ex- 
hibited, and  prefers  to  visit  those  where 
his  sins  are  not  condemned,  but  rather 
palliated.  He  loves  that  system  that 
makes  light  of  sin,  and  that  indicates  it 
will  be  well  with  him  hereafter,  however 
ho  may  live  in  this  world.  From  desir- 
ing and  hoping  these  things,  ho  begins 
to  believe  them,  and  to  disbelieve  the 
doctrines  which  ho  hates.  Upon  this 
foundation  ho  rears  a  superstructure, 
which  may  bo  well  termed  a  Synagogue 
of  Satan. 

The  Lust  of  the  Flesh  may  bo  con- 
sidered as  one  of  the  prominent  pillars 
in  the  Synagogue  of  Satan.  This  may, 
in  a  primary  sense,  bo  considered  "sen- 
sual desire,"  seeking  happiness  in  de- 
baucheiy,  delicious  food,  strong  drink, 
and  gratification  of  beastly  desires,  ap- 
parently wishing  for  nothing  better,  say- 
ing unto  the  Almighty,  "  Depart  from  us, 
(or  wo  desire  not  the  knowledge  of  thy 
ways." 

O^snteel  Epicurism,  or  Sensuality,  may 
also  be  included  under  this  head:  an 
elegant  course  of  self-indulgence  which 
does  not  particularly  disorder  the  head 
and  stomach,  nor  blemish  our  reputation 
among  men,  yet  keeps  us  at  a  distance 
from  true  I'cligion.  This  species  of  idol- 
atry is  not  confined  to  the  rich  and 
gi'eat.  In  this,  also,  "the  too  of  the 
peasant  treads  upon  the  heel  of  the  court- 
ier." Thousands  in  low,  as  well  as  in 
thigh  life,  sacrifice  to  this  idol,  seeking 
their    happiness    (although    in   a    moro 


humble  manner)  in  gratifying  their  out- 
ward senses.  It  is  true  their  meat  and 
drink,  and  the  objects  which  gratify 
their  other  senses,  are  of  a  coarser  kind; 
but  still  they  make  up  all  the  happiness 
they  cither  have  or  seek,  and  usurp  the 
hearts  which  are  due  to  God. 

Lust  of  the  Eye  is  defined  as  "in- 
ordinate desires  after  finery  of  every 
kind:  gaudy  dress,  splendid  houses,  su- 
perb furniture,  expensive  equipage,  trap- 
pings and  decorations  of  all  sorts."  Wc 
may  also  understand  "  the  desire  of  the 
eye  "  to  mean  the  seeking  our  happiness 
in  gratifying  our  imagination,  (which  is 
chiefly  done  by  means  of  the  cj^es,)  by 
grand,  new,  or  beautiful  objects.  The 
desire  of  novelty  to  most  men  is  natural 
as  the  desire  for  food  and  drink.  Per- 
sons of  wealth  have  great  temptations 
to  make  idols  of  these  things.  How 
strongly  and  continually  are  they  drawn 
to  seek  hap])iness  in  beautiful  houses, 
elegant  furniture  and  equipage,  costly 
paintings,  and  delightful  grounds  and 
gardens  ! 

How  arc  ricli  men,  of  a  more  elevated 
turn  of  mind,  tempted  to  seek  happiness, 
as  their  various  tastes  lead,  in  poetry,  his- 
tory, music,  philosoj^hy,  or  curious  arts 
and  sciences!  Now,  although  it  is  certain 
all  these  have  their  use,  and  thereforo 
may  bo  innocently  pursued,  yet  the  seek- 
ing  of  happiness  in  any  of  them,  instead 
of  God,  is  manifestly  idolatry;  and, 
thercfoi'o,  were  it  only  on  this  account 
that  riches  furnish  him  with  themeans 
of  indulging  all  these  desires,  it  might 
be  well  asked,  "Is  not  the  life  of  a  rich 
man,  above  most  others,  a  temptation 
on  earth,  drawing  to  worship  worldly 
things,  and  thus  making  a  worshij)cr  in 
the  Synagogue  of  Satan. 

Pride  of  Life  is  defined  "  Hunting 
after  honors,  titles,  and  pedigrees ; 
boasting  of  ancestr}',  family  connections, 
great  offices,  honorable  acquaintance, 
and  such  like."  It  is  usually  supposed 
to  mean  the  pomp  and  splendor  of  those 
in  high  life,  but  it  may  also  include  the 


CHEISTIAN     SIMILITUDES. 


99 


seeking  of  happiness  in  the  praise  and 
plaudits  of  oui"  fellow-nien,  which,  above 
most  things,  engenders  pride.  When 
this  is  pursued  by  nionarchs,  titled  war- 
riors, and  illustrious  men,  it  is  called 
"thirst  for  glory." 

The  Pride  of  Life  is  seen  among  all 
classes  and  conditions  of  men.  In  the 
middle  classes  of  society,  in  many  in- 
stances, we  see  those  who  possess  a  little 
more  wealth  than  their  neighbors  look 
down  upon  them  with  contempt,  and  on 
this  account  will  not  associate  with  them. 
The  poorer  classes,  also,  Imvc  this  Pride 
of  Life,  when  they  look  down  upon 
(hose  whom  they  consider  as  below 
thom;  for  instance,  those  who  have  a 
skin  different  from  their  own.  There 
arc  also  different  classes  among  men 
who  will  not  associate  with  others  of 
their  race.  Among  heathen  nations  how 
strong  ]s  the  prejudice  of  caste,  destroy- 
ing the  fraternal  feelings.  All  these  dis- 
tinctions among  men  tend  to  foster  the 
Pride  of  Life,  which  thus  becomes  one 
of  the  principal  pillars  in  the  Synagogue 
of  Satan. 

Avarice,  the  love  of  money,  is  another 
pillar.  One  who  is  properly  a  miser, 
loves  and  seeks  money  for  its  own  sake. 
lie  looks  no  farther,  but  places  his  hap- 
piness in  the  acquiring  or  possessing  of 
it.  This  is  a  species  of  idolatry  different 
from  the  preceding,  and  is  of  the  basest 
kind.  To  seek  happiness  either  in  grat- 
ifying this,  or  any  other  of  the  desires 
hero  mentioned,  is  to  renounce  God  as 
the  Supremo  Good,  and  set  up  an  idol  in 
the  Synagogue  of  >Satan. 

Selfishness  is  represented  in  the  engrav- 
ing as  the  roof  or  covering  of  the  Syna- 
gogue. It  forms  a  prominent  part  of 
the  structure,  covering  the  whole.  Some 
writers  contend  that  all  sin  may  be  com- 
prehended under  it.  This  vice  consists 
in  aiming  at  our  own  interest  and  grati- 
fication only,  in  every  thing  we  do.  It 
shows  itself  in  avarice,  oppression,  neg- 
lect, and  contempt  of  the  rights  of 
others;   rebellion,  sedition,  immoderate 


attemjits  to  gain  flime,  power,  pleasure, 
money,  and  frequently  by  gross  acts  of 
lying  and  injustice.  By  and  iinder  its 
power  innumerable  sins  are  committed, 
as  perjury,  hypocrisy,  falsehood,  idolatry, 
persecution,  and  murder  itself. 

The  priests  who  officiate  in  the  Syna- 
gogue of  Satan  have  been  numerous  in 
all  ages  and  countries.  From  the  priests 
of  Baal  down  to  the  present  time,  there 
has  been  an  unbroken  succession  of  min- 
istrations to  the  present  time.  Instead 
of  leading  men  to  the  worship  of  the 
true  and  living  God,  many  teachers  have 
held  up  demons  for  admiration  and  wor- 
ship. Even  in  modern  times,  oppres- 
sion, rapine,  war,  revenge,  and  blood- 
shed have  been  advocated  by  those  pro- 
fessing to  belong  to  the  Christian  Church, 
but  who  are,  in  reality,  of  the  Synagogue 
of  Satan. 

Satan,  the  Chief  Ruler,  or  Master,  of  the 
Synagogue  here  described,  receives  hi.s  name 
from  a  Hebrew  word  signifying  adversary  or 
enemy.  It  appears  he  and  his  company  were 
cast  out  of  heaven  on  account  of  their  pride 
and  rebelHon.  By  his  envy  and  malice,  sin, 
death,  and  all  other  evils  came  into  tlie  world, 
and  by  the  permission  of  God  he  exercises  a 
kind  of  government  over  his  subordinates  who 
are  apostate  angels  like  himself.  He  is  the 
Father  of  Liars,  and  puts  his  spirit  into  tlie 
mouth  of  folse  prophets,  seducers  and  heretics. 
He  reigns  in  the  hearts  of  the  children  of  dis- 
obedience, and  tempts  men  to  evil;  inspires 
them  with  evil  designs,  as  he  did  David,  wlien 
he  suggested  to  him  to  number  his  people;  to 
Judas  to  betray  his  Lord  and  Master;  and  to 
Ananias  and  Sapphira  to  conceal  the  price  of 
their  field.  He  is  also  represented  as  a  roaring 
lion,  seeking  whom  he  may  tempt,  deceire, 
and  devour.  For  this  purpose  he  erects 
synagogues,  inspires  messengers  and  teachers 
to  set  '^forth  his  false  doctrines,  calls  light 
darkness,  and  darkness  liffht,  and.  in  short, 
uses  his  utmost  skill  to  rob  God  of  his  glory, 
and  men  of  their  souls. 


"I  hnte  the  tempter  and  his  charms, 
I  hate  his  tlittering  bre.ith  ; 
The  serpent  f.'ikes  a  thousand  forms 
To  cheat  our  soula  to  deatii." 


100 


CHEISTIAN     SIMILITUDES. 


JEREMIAH, 

Chap,  xxiii : 

verse  0. 


2  COHINTHI'NS 
Chap,  i: 
verse  20. 


PSALM 

xxxvii : 
verse  5. 


PROVERBS, 

Chaj).  lii : 
verse  23. 


PSALM 

c  : 
verse  5. 


ROMANS, 

Chap,  x: 

verse  4. 


HEBREWS, 
Chap,  vi: 
verse  18. 


PSALM 
Ixxviii : 
verse  53. 


THE  SAFE  BRIDGE. 

Behold  I  lay  in  Zion     .     .     a  precious  corner  stone,     . 

foundation.     Isa.  xxviii:  16, 1  am  the   loay,  and 

and  the  life.     John  xiv :  6. 


.     a  sure 
the  truthj 


With  sure  foundations  built  on  solid  rock, 
Strong  to  resist  the  waves  or  tempest  shock; 
Behold  the  bridge,  with  firm  foundations  sure, 
Spanned  by  the  promises  that  must  endure; 
Though  billows  rise  and  madly  dash  below, 


Safe  on  his  journey  or  the  bridge  he'll  go. 
The  righteousness  of  Christ,  the  sinner's  plea, 
The  one  foundation  of  his  hope  must  be; 
"While  truth  divine  is  like  the  rock,  secure. 
And  like  eternity  to  eternity  endure. 


The  onl}'  safe  bridge  over  which  the 
traveler  can  pass  from  this  world  to 
the  "better  country  "  rests  on  the  rock 
of  Divine  Truth.  This  foundation  will 
stand  though  storms  and  floods  may 
beat  against  it.  The  traveler  lays  hold 
of  and  is  supported  by  the  iron-stranded 
rope  of  the  Divine  Promises,  and  by 
means  of  the  righteousness  of  Christ,  a 
firm  foundation  is  laid,  a  bridge  is 
formed,   over  which   the    traveler   can 


pass  from  this  world  to  vhe  new  heavens 
and  the  new  earth.  He  may,  perhaps, 
through  ignorance,  have  some  misgiv- 
ings as  to  its  safety,  during  the  tempests 
and  darkness  by  which  he  is  sometimes 
surrounded;  he  may  be  fearful  of  being 
blown  off;  or  by  some  misstep  be  pre- 
cipitated into  the  depths  below.  Should 
a  tempest  arise,  he  need  not  fear,  if  he 
will  but  lay  hold  of  the  Divine  Promises, 
and  he  may  rest  assured  that  they  will 


CHEISTIAN     SIMILITUDES, 


101 


may 


not    fail,    though    whatever    else 
seem  to  pass  away. 

It  will  be  perceived,  that  to  cross  the 
bridge  it  is  necessary  to  get  upon  the 
elevated  road — the  highway  of  holiness. 
This  is  the  way  of  safety.  "No  lion 
shall  be  there,"  and  "the  wayfaring 
man,  though  a  fool,  need  not  err  therein." 
Holiness  consists  in  obedience  to  the 
divine  commands — in  loving  God  su- 
premel}^ — in  loving  our  neighbor  as  our- 
selves. It  is  neither  circumcision  nor 
uncircumcision,  but  a  new  creation, 
whereby  a  man  is  taken  from  wander- 
ing in  the  filth  and  mire  of  sin,  washed 
and  cleansed  by  the  blood  of  Christ, 
and  his  feet  placed  on  firm  foundations, 
on  that  way  which  leads  to  everlasting 
life  and  felicity. 

As  the  great  Lord  of  all  has  ordained 
that  those  who  inhabit  this  world,  at  an 
appointed  time  must  leave  it,  he  wishes 
to  conduct  all  the  creatures  he  has  made 
to  a  place  of  eternal  happiness.  This 
he  has  proclaimed  to  them  in  his  "Word; 
he  has  also  cast  up  a  way  of  holiness, 
"by  which  the  ransomed  of  the  Lord 
can  return  to  Zion  with  everlasting  joy 
upon  their  heads."  And  for  these  he 
has  prepared  a  kingdom  from  the  founda- 
tion of  the  world.  But  he  will  not  force 
them  into  it;  he  leaves  them  in  the 
hands  of  their  own  counsel.  He  saith, 
"Behold  I  set  before  you  life  and  death, 
blessing  and  cursing;  choose  life  that 
you  may  live."  He  cries  aloud,  Walk 
yo  on  the  path  of  holiness,  and  when- 
ever the  api>ointed  time  arrives  for 
you  to  cross  over  the  gulf  of  death  to 
the  unseen  world,  lay  hold  of  the  Di- 
vine Promises,  place  your  feet  on  that 
bridge  which  rests  on  Divine  Truth, 
and  is  sustained  by  the  righteousness  of 
Christ. 

The  Lord  our  righteousness  is  a  term 
which  expresses  a  vital  truth  of  Chris- 
tianity, and,  in  a  certain  sense,  sustains 
or  supports  its  whole  frame.  It  may 
be  stated  that  the  Christian  Church 
stands  or  falls  with  it.     It  is  the  jiillar 


and  ground  of  that  faith  of  which  alone 
Cometh  salvation.  The  righteousness  of 
Christ  is  defined  by  a  celebrated  writer 
as  twofold,  divine  and  human.  His  divine 
righteousness  belongs  to  his  divine  na- 
ture, as  equal  with  the  Father  "over  all, 
God  blessed  forever."  His  human  right- 
eousness belongs  to  him  in  his  human  na- 
ture, and  is  a  transcript  of  divine  purity, 
justice,  mercy,  and  truth.  It  includes 
love,  reverence,  and  resignation  to  his 
Father;  humility,  meekness,  gentleness  ; 
love  to  lost  mankind,  and  every  other 
holy  and  heavcnl}'  temper.  It  also  in- 
cludes all  his  outward  acts  which  were 
exactly  right  in  every  circumstance. 
The  Avhole  and  every  part  of  his  obedi- 
ence was  complete.  He  "fulfilled  all 
righteousness." 

But  the  obedience  and  righteousness 
of  Christ  implied  more  than  all  this;  it 
was  not  only  doing,  but  suffering — suf- 
fering the  whole  will  of  God  from  the 
time  he  came  into  the  world  till  "ho 
bore  our  sins  in  his  own  body  on  the 
tree;"  yea,  till  he  made  full  atonement 
for  them,  "bowed  his  head  and  gave  up 
the  ghost."  A  measure  of  his  truth  is 
impressed  upon  the  hearts  of  all  Chris- 
tians of  every  name,  when  about  to  pass 
into  the  other  world.  It  was  this  that 
even  impressed  the  mind  of  the  cele- 
brated Bcllarmine,  when  asked,  as  ho 
Avas  about  to  die,  "Unto  which  of  the 
saints  wilt  thou  turn?"  He  cried  out, 
^'•Fidere  meritis  Chnsti  intissimun!"  (It 
is  safest  to  trust  in  the  merits  of  Christ.) 

Says  an  ancient  and  celebi'ated  writer, 
"Christ,  by  his  obedience,  procured 
righteousness  for  us."  And  again  :  "  All 
such  expressions  as  these,  That  we  are 
justified  by  the  grace  of  God,  that 
Christ  is  our  righteousness,  that  right- 
eousness was  procured  for  us  by  the 
death  and  resurrection  of  Christ,  im- 
port the  same  thing;  namely,  that  tho 
righteousness  of  Christ,  both  his  active 
and  passive  righteousness,  is  the  mer- 
itorious cause  of  our  justification,  and 
has    procured    for    us,   at   God's   hand, 


1C3 


CHRISTIAN     SIMILITUDES, 


that  upon  our  believing,  we  should  bo 
accounted  righteous  by  him." 

All  true  Christians  are  saved  in  con- 
sequence of  what  Christ  hath  done  for 
them,  and  not  for  the  sake  of  their 
own  righteousness,  or  works,  as  it  is 
declared,  "  Not  by  works  of  righteous- 
ness Avhich  we  have  done,  but  according 
to  his  mercy  he  hath  saved  us."  "By 
grace  are  yc  saved,  through  faith,  not 
of  works,  lest  any  man  should  boast." 
We  are  justified  freely  by  his  grace, 
through  the  redemption  which  is  by 
Jesus  Christ.  When  all  the  world  was 
not  able  to  pay  any  part  of  our  ransom, 
it  pleased  him,  without  any  of  our  de- 
eerving,  to  prepare  for  us  Christ's  body 
and  blood,  whereby  our  ransom  might 
be  paid,  and  his  justice  satisfied.  Jesus 
Christ,  therefore,  is  now  the  righteous- 
ness of  all  them  that  truly  believe  in 
him. 

We  must  first  cut  off  all  our  depend- 
ence upon  ourselves  before  we  can  truly 
depend  upon  Christ.  We  must  cast 
away  all  confidence  in  our  own  right- 
eousness, or  we  can  not  have  a  true 
confidence  in  his.  Till  we  are  delivered 
from  trusting  in  any  thing  that  we  do, 
we  can  not  thoroughly  trust  in  what 
he  has  done  or  suffered.  The  righteous- 
ness of  Christ  is  the  only  foundation 
which  will  surely  bear  us  into  heaven. 
They   to   whom    the    righteousness   of 


Christ  is  available  are  those  who  are 
made  righteous  by  the  Spirit  of  Christ, 
and  are  renewed  in  the  image  of  God. 
"after  the  likeness  wherein  they  were 
created — in  righteousness  and  true  ho- 
liness." 

The  great  enemy  of  God  and  man- 
kind, to  lure  the  human  race  to  de- 
struction, builds  up  a  structure  con- 
nected with  the  pathway  of  sin  some- 
what similar  in  appearance  to  the  safe 
bridge.  The  righteousness  of  Christ 
being  one  of  the  supports  of  the  safe 
bridge,  an  imitation  has  been  got  up, 
called  by  that  name,  which  might  be 
more  properly  called  false  confidence. 

Some  even  turn  the  grace  of  God 
into  lasciviousness,  making  Christ's 
righteousness  a  cloak  for  their  wicked- 
ness. When  rej)roved  of  their  sins, 
they  may  answer,  perhaps,  "I  pretend 
to  no  righteousness  of  my  own — Christ 
is  my  righteousness."  Or,  if  charged 
with  injustice,  licentiousness,  etc.,  will 
answer,  "I  am  in  myself  unjust,  im- 
pure, etc. ;  but  I  am  in  Christ  righteous, 
and  pure,  and  clean."  Let  all  such 
dreamers  be  assured  that  they  who 
"commit  sin  are  of  the  devil,"  notwith- 
standing all  their  exalted  faith  and 
opinions.  Such  characters,  not  being 
on  the  highway  to  holiness,  can  never 
pass  on  to  the  safe  bridge  which  con- 
ducts to  eternal  safety  and  happiness. 


cheistiajN"  similitudes. 


103 


2  PETEE, 
Chap,  ii: 
vorse  10. 


PROYEEBS,     M 
Chap,  xxviii: 
verse  26. 


HEBEEWS, 
Chap,  xii: 
verse  14. 


EOMANS, 

Chap,  ii : 
vei'se  20. 


2  TIMOTHY, 

Cliap.  iii: 

verse  5. 


ISAIAH, 

Chap,  xxviii : 

verse  15. 


JOB, 

Chap,  viii : 

verses  14,  15. 


MATTHEW, 
Chaj).  v: 
verse  20. 


THE  UNSAFE  BRIDGE. 

The  hope  of  unjust  men  perisheth.     Prov.  xr:  7. The  way  of 

the  wicked  he  turneth  upside  down.     Ps.  cxLvr:  9. There  is  a 

weuj  that  seemcth  7if/ht  unto  a  man,  but  the  end  thereof  are  the  ways 
of  death.     Proc.  xvi:  25. 


The  heedless  traveler  on  hia  journey  see, 
Passing  from  Time  into  Eternity; 
The  bridge,  unsafe,  he  treads  with  willing  feet, 
Nor  seems  to  fear  tlie  ruin  lie  must  meet; 
It  rests  upon  false  doctrines,  sandy  banks, 


Frail  structure!  unsupported  are  its  planks; 
lie  heeds  no  warnings,  knows  not  that  the  tide 
Will  sweep  away  the  bridge  in  ruin  wide. 
While  raging  billows  foam,  dash  to  and  fro, 
He  quickly  falls,  and  sinks  in  depths  below  ! 


'  The  man  who  passes  from  time  to 
eternity,  regardless  of  the  great  truths 
of  Cliristiaiiity,  may  be  compared  to  a 
ti'aveler  who  undertakes  to  cross  a  deep 
and  wide  stream  on  a  frail  and  unsafe 
bridge,  which  gives  way  under  a  slight 
pressure,  or  by  the  wearing  of  waters. 
The  main  loundatiou  on  which  this 


bridge  rests  are  the  sandy  banks  of  False 
Doctrine,  the  main  timbers  of  Avhich 
are  Presumption  and  Yain  Hope,  and  tho 
planks  of  various  kinds  of  human  merit, 
Tho  heedless  traveler,  without  due  ex- 
amination, fearlessly  passes  on,  until  the 
framework,  and  every  thing  else  con- 
nected with  it,  gives  way,  when  he  is  at 


104 


CHRISTIAN    SIMILITUDES, 


once  precipitated  into,  and  is  lost  in  the 
mighty  waters. 

Many  false  systems  of  religion  are  ex- 
tant, each  of  which  claims  to  be  suf- 
ficient to  conduct  one  in  safety  from  time 
to  a  happy  eternity.  When  the  day  of 
trial  arrives,  they  will  all  be  found  una- 
vailing, and  as  unsafe  as  a  bridge  founded 
upon  a  bank  of  sand. 

A  person  not  knowing  the  nature  of 
the  soil  on  which  the  main  timbers  of 
such  a  structure  rests,  will  be  apt  to  be- 
lieve that  the  bank  is  sufficiently  dura- 
ble to  resist  the  action  of  the  stream, 
and  the  bridge  itself  strong  enough  to 
bear  him  to  a  place  of  safety.  It  is  true, 
he  may  have  had  some  intimations  of 
its  insecurity,  but  as  these  warnings  came 
from  persons  whom  he  considers  as 
rather  weak-minded,  and  disposed  to  look 
on  the  dark  side  of  things,  he  does  not 
feel  disposed  to  take  their  advice.  He  has 
been  informed  that  there  is  another 
bridge  which  is  indeed  safe,  but  as  it  is 
some  distance  off,  and  the  road  which 
leads  to  it  difficult,  he  determines  to 
venture  himself  on  the  one  near  at 
iiand,  especially  as  he  sees  the  great 
mass  of  travelers  are  going  the  same 
way. 

The  great  Lord  of  the  country  has 
ordained  that  all  travelers  shall  leave 
this  part  of  his  dominions  at  a  fixed 
time,  whether  they  go  willingly  or  not. 
He  wishes  them  all  to  go  to  a  better 
land,  prepared  for  all  those  who  love 
and  obey  him.  He  has  erected,  at  an 
immense  expense,  a  safe  bridge,  and  sent 
out  his  servants  to  invite  and  intreat  all 
travelers  to  come,  and  pass  over  without 
money  and  without  price  !  He  has  also 
prepared  delightful  mansions  for  all  who 
will  accept  his  kind  invitations,  and  in- 
structed his  servants  to  warn  all  against 
attempting  to  cross  the  iinsafo  bridge, 
telling  them  that  they  will  be  lost  if 
they  venture  on  such  a  frail  structure. 

An  evil  prince,  the  enemy  of  the  Lord 
of  the  country,  has  laid  the  foundations 
for  the  unsafe  bridge,  and  has  had  the 


direction  in  furnishing  the  materials. 
He  also  has  servants  under  him,  whom 
he  sends  abroad  to  induce  travelers  to 
pass  over  his  bridge,  which  he  repre- 
sents as  entirely  safe,  and  even  contra- 
dicts the  assertion  that  all  will  be  lost 
who  attempt  to  pass  over. 

This  arch-enemy  of  God  and  man  has 
thus  far  deceived  the  greater  part  of 
the  human  family.  All  who  come  on  to 
the  bridge  he  considers  as  his  subjects, 
and  when  they  fall  into  the  depths  be- 
low, they  sink  into  the  regions  of  dark- 
ness and  despair.  They  then  find  in- 
deed that  they  are  lost,  that  they  arc 
forever  excluded  from  the  abodes  of  the 
blessed  above,  there  being  between  them 
and  that  happy  place  a  great  gulf,  over 
which  no  one  can  pass. 

It  is  sometimes  the  case  that  those 
who  venture  on  this  unsafe  structure 
become  convinced  of  its  frail  nature, 
and  of  its  utter  insufficiency  to  bear  up 
a  person  from  the  gulf  of  pei'dition. 
Considering  the  many  warnings  they 
have  slighted,  the  proft'ered  mercies 
they  have  rejected,  they  feel  that  they 
are  justly  condemned,  and  have  for- 
feited all  claims  on  the  divine  compas- 
sion. Knowing,  by  melancholy  experi- 
ence, that  they  possess  no  power  of 
themselves  to  hell?  themselves,  and 
having  no  expectation  that  God  will 
help  them,  thinking  that  the  day  of 
their  calamity  has  come,  desjiair  seizes 
them,  and  they  at  once  cast  themselves 
into  the  depths  below. 

Presumption  is  one  of  the  main  sup- 
ports which  give  a  specious  strength  to 
the  unsafe  bridge.  Many  are  ruined 
by  so  presuming  on  the  mercy  of  God 
as  utterly  to  forget  his  justice.  Al- 
though he  has  expressly  declared,  ''With- 
out holiness  no  man  shall  see  the  Lord," 
yet  they  flatter  themselves  that,  live  as 
they  may,  they  shall  in  the  end  come 
out  right.  They  feel  that  they  lovo 
their  sins,  and  that,  after  all,  they  are 
not  so  bad  as  the  Bible  represents; 
that  they  are  of  little  importance;  that 


CHKISTIAN    SIMILITUDES. 


105 


God  will  overlook  them,  or  if  lie  does 
not,  they  will  be  let  off  with  some  slight 
punishment.  It  is  true,  the  Bible,  in  its 
literal  sense,  seems  to  denounce  awful 
punishments  against  the  wicked,  but 
they  persuade  themselves  that  God  is  too 
merciful  to  punish  in  this  manner;  these 
threatenings  may  mean  something  else. 
Others,  perhaps,  pei'suade  themselves 
that  if  they  have  fliith  merely,  it  is  suf 
ficient  to  save  them ;  that  Christ  has 
done  all  things  for  them,  they  are  com- 
plete in  him,  etc.  No  matter  what  sins 
they  commit  they  can  not  be  lost,  for 
faith  will  save  them,  evidently  forget- 


ting what  the  Apostle  says,  that  "Faith 
without  works  is  dead,  being  alone.' 
Some  have  gone  so  far  as  to  renounce 
the  outward  forms  of  religion,  treating 
them  with  contempt,  esteeming  them  as 
"carnal  ordinances,"  which  persons  of 
their  knowledge  and  discernment  are 
not  bound  to  observe.  Othei-s  have 
even  advocated  the  direct  violation  of 
God's  law,  (strange  as  it  may  appear,) 
under  the  profession  of  superior  sanc- 
tity; of  being  "all  one  in  Christ  Jesus," 
while  indulging  their -beastly  appetites; 
prating  about  libert}',  while  -'they  are 
the  BcrvauLB  of  corruption." 


106 


CHEISTIAN     SIMILITUDES, 


MAEK, 
Chap,  xi: 
verse  22. 


LUKE, 

Chap,  xviii: 

verse  17. 


ISAIAH, 

Cliap.  Ivii: 
verso  15. 


COLOSSIAXS, 
Chap.  1 : 
verse  27. 


eoma:^s, 

Chap,  viii : 
verse  19. 


1  TIIESS. 

Chap,  v: 
verse  23. 


GALATIANS, 

Chap,   iv: 
verses  5-7. 


PSALM 

Ixxiii: 

verse  24. 


SEVEN"  UPWARD  STEPS. 

Thou  unit  shoio  me  the  path  of  life.     Ps.   xvi:  11. They  go 

from  strength  to  strength.     Ps.  lxxxiv  :  7. llie  j^alh  of  the  just 

shineth  .  .  more  and  more  unto  the  perfect  day.  Proc.  iv :  18. 


Sevkx  upward  steps  in  Christian  life  we  see, 
First  Faith  sincere,  and  then  Humility  ; 
Then  the  Repentance  shown  to  God  and  man, 
And  Hope  that  eager  grasps  salvation's  plan; 
Then  Expectation  of  the  joys  to  come, 
Promised  the  Christian  in  his  heavenly  home. 


Sanctification,  next  within  the  soul. 
And  blest  Adoption,  surety  of  the  whole; 
While  Glory  over  nil  sheds  luster  down, 
And  Angels  point  him  to  the  starry  crown; 
As  hopes  like  these  the  Christian's  life  employ 
The  Cross  seems  light,  he  presses  on  with  joy. 


In  the  engraving  a  person  is  seen 
ascending  the  steps  from  Faith  to  dory. 
Ho  bears  the  consecreated  cross,  en- 
couraged by  the  presence  and  ministry 
of  a  guardian  angel  to  press  upward 
to  the  heavenly  regions.  The  first  step 
represented  is  Faith,  showing  that 
every  one  who  commences  a  religious 
life  must,  in  the  first  place,  have  laith 


in  the  being  and  attributes  of  God,  be- 
lieving that  he  is,  and  that  he  is  a  re- 
warder  of  all  them  that  diligently  seek 
him.  In  many  places  in  Scripture, 
faith  is  represented  as  the  principal 
grace,  and  without  it  no  one  can  please 
God.  The  apostle,  in  his  epistle  to  tho 
Hebrews,  gives  a  long  catalogue  of 
worthies    who    exercised    livinsr    faith. 


CHEISTIAN     SIMILITUDES 


107 


from  righteous  Abel  down  to  the  Chris- 
tian era,  many  of  whom  performed 
wondex'S  by  its  power;  and  it  is  recorded 
of  them  that  they  all  died  in  faith. 

When  a  man  has  faith  in  God,  and 
begins  to  undei'stand  something  of  his 
nature,  and  of  his  obligations  to  him, 
he  feels  a  spirit  of  Humility,  on  account 
of  his  short-comings,  his  violation  of 
the  divine  law,  and  the  spirit  of  de- 
pravit}^  within.  He  sees  that  he  has 
broken  the  law  of  his  Creator  and  Ben- 
efactor, and  rendered  himself  liable  to 
the  infliction  of  its  penalties.  He  is 
humbled  in  the  dust  before  God,  and 
feels  himself  undone,  unless  God  has 
mercy  on  him.  He  has  now  taken  the 
second  upward  step  toward  salvation. 

In  view  of  his  transgressions  against 
so  great  and  so  good  a  Being,  the  con- 
victed sinner  has  a  view  of  his  corrupt 
and  vile  nature,  and  of  his  exceeding 
depravity,  and  loathes  himself  on  ac- 
count of  his  sins.  Ho,  therefore,  feels 
a  deep  sorrow  for  his  transgressions, 
and  makes  a  firm  resolution  and  de- 
termination to  forsake  them.  He  thus 
exercises  evangelical  Repentance,  and  so 
has  taken  the  third  upward  step  rejD- 
resented  in  the  engraving. 

Encouraged  by  the  divine  promise, 
he  next  takes  the  fourth  step  upward. 
He  exercises  Hope  that  God  will  deliver 
him  from  all  his  sins,  and  save  him  with 
an  eternal  salvation.  "The  hope  of  a 
Christian,"  says  one,  "  is  an  expectation 
of  all  necessary  good,  both  in  time  and 
in  eternity,  founded  on  the  promises,  re- 
lations, and  perfections  of  God,  and  on 
the  offices,  righteousness,  and  interces- 
sion of  Christ.  It  is  a  compound  of 
desire,  expectation,  patience,  and  joy. 
Rom.  viii :  24,  2.5.  It  may  be  considered, 
first,  as  pure,  (1  John  iii:  2,  H,)  as  it 
is  resident  in  that  heart  which  is  cleansed 
from  sin;  second,  as  good,  (2  Thess.  ii: 
16 — in  distinction  from  the  hope  of  a 
hypocrite,)  as  deriving  its  origin  from 
God,  centering  in  him  ;  third,  it  is  called 
lively,  (1  Pet.  i:  3,)  as  it  proceeds  from 


spiritual  life,  and  renders  one  active 
and  lively  in  good  works ;  fourth,  it 
is  courageous,  (Eom.  v :  5 ;  1  Thess.  v : 
8,)  because  it  exercises  fortitude  in  all 
the  troubles  of  life,  and  yields  support 
in  the  hour  of  death,  (Prov.  xiv:  32;) 
fifth,  sure,  (Heb.  vi:  19,)  because  it  will 
not  disappoint  us,  and  is  fixed  on  a  sure 
foundation;  sixth,  joyful,  (Eom.  v:  2,) 
as  it  produces  the  greatest  felicit}'  in 
the  anticipation  of  the  complete  deliver- 
ance from  all  evil." 

Expectation,  the  fifth  step,  is  neaily 
allied,  and  may  be  considered  as  an 
advanced  step  upward  from  Hope.  We 
may,  indeed,  hope  for  some  things 
which  we  may  have  but  little  prospect 
of  receiving,  and  it  may  be  so  deferred 
as  even  to  make  "the  heart  sick." 
But  the  Christian  having  had  some  ex- 
perience of  the  mercy  and  goodness  of 
God,  now  expects  to  receive  still  greater 
blessings  in  accordance  with  his  prom- 
ises. 

Snnctification,  the  sixtli  upward  stop 
in  the  Cliristian  life,  is  defined  by  Arch- 
bishop Usher  to  be  "nothing  less  than 
for  a  man  to  be  brought  to  an  entire 
resignation  of  his  will  to  the  will  of 
God,  and  to  live  in  the  offering  up  of 
his  soul  continual!}'  in  the  flames  of 
love,  and  as  a  whole  burnt  oflering  to 
Christ."  It  is  also  defined  as  the  work 
of  God's  grace,  whereby  we  are  enabled 
to  die  unto  sin  and  live  unto  righteous- 
ness. 

Sanctification  is  distinguished  from 
justification  thus  :  Justification  changeth 
our  state  in  law  before  God  as  a  Judge; 
sanctification  changeth  our  lieart  before 
him  as  a  Father.  Justification  pro- 
cedes  and  sanctification  follows  as  the 
fruit  and  evidence  of  it.  Justification 
removes  the  guilt  of  sin  ;  sanctification 
the  power  of  it.  Justification  delivers 
us  from  the  avenging  wrath  of  God; 
sanctification  from  the  power  of  it.  It 
is  a  work  of  God,  and  shows  itself  by 
a  holy  reverence  of  the  Divine  Being — 
patient,    submission    to    his   will,    com- 


108 


CHRISTIAN    SIMILITUDES, 


munion  with  God,  delight  in  his  Word 
and  ordinances,  humility,  prayer,  holy 
confidence,  praise,  and  uniform,  obedi- 
ence. 

Being  purified  and  sanctified,  wo  are 
thus  rendered  complete  in  Christ,  wo 
receive  Adoption  as  sons.  This  is  the 
seventh  and  highest  elevation  to  which 
mortals  can  attain  in  this  life  before 
they  enter  Glory  above.  Adoption  is 
defined  to  be  the  act  of  God's  free 
grace,  whereby  human  beings  are  re- 
ceived into  the  number,  and  have  a 
right  to  all  the  privileges  of  the  sons 
of  God.  Adoption  is  a  word  taken  from 
the  civil  law,  and  was  much  in  use  among 
the  Romans  in  the  time  of  the  apostles, 
when  it  was  the  custom  for  persons 
having  no  children  of  their  own  to 
adopt  one  or  more  of  some  others,  to 
whom  they  gave  their  name,  their  es- 
tates, and  were,  in  all  respects,  treated 
and   considered  as  their  own  children. 

The  privileges  of  those  who  are 
adopted  into  the  family  of  God  are 
every  way  great  and  extensive.  They 
have  God's  name  iipon  them,  and  are 
described  as  his  people,  "called  by  his 
name."  They  are  no  longer  slaves  to 
the  things  of  time  and  sense,  but  are 
raised  to  dignity  and  honor.  They 
have  inexhaustible  riches  laid  up  for 
them;  for  it  is  declared  that  "they 
shall  inherit  all  things."  They  have 
the  divine  protection  ;  for  it  is  also  de- 
clared that  "they  shall  dwell  in  a 
peaceable  habitation,  and  in  sure  dwell- 
ings and  quiet  resting-places."  They 
shall    have    unspeakable    felicity    and 


eternal  gloi'y;  for  the  same  word  de- 
clares that  "they  shall  be  forever  with 
the  Lord." 

Those  adopted  into  the  family  of  heav- 
en cast  oif  all  allegiance  to  any  other; 
they  give  up  every  other  interest  which 
interferes  with  the  will  and  glory  of 
their  heavenly  Father,  saying  "Other 
lords  have  had  dominion  over  us;  but 
by  thee  only  will  we  make  mention  of 
thy  name."  These  adopted  ones  feel  a 
supremo  affection  for  their  Great  Ben- 
efactor, and  each  one  of  them  says  from 
his  heart,  "AVhom  have  I  in  hcaveij  but 
thee,  and  there  is  none  on  earth  that 
I  desire  beside  thee."  They  have  access 
to  God  with  a  holy  boldness.  Being 
children  by  adoption,  and  joint  heirs 
with  Jesus  Christ,  they  can,  by  the  vir- 
tue of  his  merits,  "  come  boldly  to  tlie 
throne  of  grace,  that  they  may  obtain 
mercy,  and  find  grace  to  help  in  time 
of  need;"  and,  in  the  words  of  inspira- 
tion, they  may  truly  say,  "He  that 
spared  not  his  only  begotten  Son,  but 
freely  gave  him  up  for  us  all,  how  shall 
he  not  with  him  give  us  all  things." 

The  Christian  traveler  having  as- 
cended to  a  state  of  sanctification  and 
adoption  into  the  family  of  heaven,  has 
arrived  at  the  confines  of  eternal  glory. 
He  is  now  in  the  land  of  Beulah,  and 
has  glimpses  of  the  heavenly,  glorious, 
and  eternal  mansions  of  the  blessed, 
and  can  say  with  the  Apostle,  "Hence- 
forth I  know  that  there  is  a  crown  of 
glory  laid  up  for  me,  and  not  for  me 
only,  but  for  all  who  love  hi.s  ai)pear- 
in<r." 


CUlllSTlAN     SIMILITUDES, 


109 


EXODUS, 
Chap.  XX : 
verse  17. 


ECCLESIAST'S,  ^ 

^ "EVIL 

Chap,  viii:        ^desire 
verse  11.  

SELF-WILL 


2  TIMOTHY,     ^^^ 
Chap,  lii:  ^ 

verse  13. 


ROMANS, 
Chap,  ii: 
verse  5. 


EPHESIANS, 
Chaj).  iv : 
verse  18. 


2  PETER, 
Chap,  ii: 
verse  10. 


JEREMIAH, 

Chap,  xvii: 

verse  9. 


JUDE, 
Chap,  i: 
verse  3. 


seye:n'  dowi^ward  steps. 

Bat  evil  men  and  seducers  shall  wax  worse  and  icorse,  deceiving 
and  being  deceived.  2  Tim.  in :  13. Going  down  to  the  cham- 
bers of  death.     Prov.  vii :  27. 


Seven  downward  steps,  behold  in  man's  career, 
A  siren  form  of  guilty  pleasure  near; 
She  gives  the  cup  with  all  her  fiendish  arts, 
The  base  indulgence  of  sense  imparts. 
Desire,  Self-Wiil,  and  Self-Deception  first, 
Throe  steps  upon  that  downward  way  accurst; 


Hardness  of  heart,  the  heavenly  call  requite, 
And  Blindness,  such  as  will  not  see  the  light; 
Presumption,  sporting  next  on  ruin's  brink, 
Too  hardened  far,  the  soul  to  pause  and  think, 
Till  Desperate  Wickedness,  last  step  below, 
Lands  the  lost  wretch  in  depths  of  darkest  woe. 


The  engraving  annexed  represents  a 
man  going  down,  from  bad  to  worse,  a 
llight  of  stej^s,  reaching  to  the  regions  of 
darkness  and  despair.  Ho  is  hired  on, 
])erhaps,  by  some  fascinating  emissary  of 
evil,  who  causes  the  bubbles  of  fancy 
and  imagination,  with  their  brilliant  and 


attractive  colors,  to  dance  before  him. 
He  is  attracted;  the  cuj)  of  guilty  pleas- 
ure and  intoxication  is  held  out  to  him; 
ho  is  lured  downward  by  his  deceiver, 
and,  as  she  descends  to  lower  depths,  ho 
follows,  till  he  reaches  the  utmost  depths 
of  wickedness  and  despair. 


110 


CHRISTIAI5     SIMILITUDES, 


Man,  in  this  life,  is  in  a  state  of  trial 
or  temptation,  and  is  situated,  as  it  were, 
between  two  worlds — the  one  of  light  and 
glory,  the  other  of  darkness  and  despair. 
He  is  tempted  to  take  a  downward  course. 
The  world,  with  its  fascinating  objects, 
is  always  placed  before  him  in  bright 
and  beauteous  colors.  He  is  warned  by 
Heavenly  \Yisdom  to  turn  off  his  03'cs 
from  beholding  vanity,  but  ho  gives  a 
deaf  ear  to  her  entreaties,  being  lured 
by  the  deceitful  and  lying  vanities  pre- 
sented to  his  view  by  a  demon  in  the 
form  of  a  beautiful  female.  Instead  of 
resisting  the  tempter,  as  Divine  Wisdom 
commands,  his  mind  dwells  on  forbidden 
objects,  and  it  is  filled  with  the  evil  desire 
of  accomplishing  or  obtaining  unlawful 
objects.  This  is  the  first  step  in  his 
downward  career. 

Self-will,  the  next  step  downward,  is 
natui'al  to  man  in  his  fallen  state.  Satan 
has  stamped  his  image  on  his  heart,  and, 
like  his  master,  he  is  determined  to  have 
his  own  way.  The  will  of  God,  which 
is  the  supreme  rule  of  cver}^  intelligent 
creature  in  heaven  or  earth,  is  discai'ded. 
Though  warned  of  the  fatal  conse- 
quences, ho  braves  it  all  in  defiance  of  the 
Almighty;  though  entreated,  he  turns  a 
deaf  ear,  and,  with  bold  effrontery,  says 
in  his  heart,  "I  will  do  my  own  pleas- 
ure independentl}'  of  that  of  my  Crea- 
tor." The  Almighty  is  dethroned  in 
the  sinner's  heart,  and  self  is  set  up, 
served,  and  worshiped  as  Deity. 

The  man  Avho  has  made  up  his  mind 
that  he  will  do  certain  acts  foi'bidden  by 
God's  Word,  to  quiet  his  conscience, 
commences  a  course  of  self-deception. 
He  reasons  with  himself  that  the  sin  he 
wishes  to  commit  is  but  a  small  affair. 
He  is  led,  perhaps,  to  consider  it  rather 
as  a  human  Aveakness  than  a  sin  ;  that  he 
can  repent  at  any  time,  for  which  God 
is  bound  to  forgive.  The  best  of  men 
have  their  failings — he  has  his,  etc. 
Forgetting  the  great  ti'uth,  that  man  is 
in  the  world  on  a  state  of  trial,  he  asks, 
"  Why  do  I  have  these  desires,  unless  they 


are  to  be  gratified?"  True,  the  Bible 
seems  to  be  against  these  things,  but  per- 
haps the  Bible  itself  is  not  true,  and, 
therefore,  it  is  nothing  but  priestcraft. 

By  deceptive  reasonings  like  the 
above,  the  heart  of  man  is  "hardened 
through  the  deceitfulness  of  sin,"  and 
he  may  be  considered  as  having  de- 
scended to  the  fourth  downAvard  step — 
hardness  of  heart.  He  now  can  violate  a 
plain  command  of  God  with  but  little  or 
no  self-condemnation,  either  doing  what 
he  has  expressly  forbidden  or  n'.'glect- 
ing  what  he  has  expressly  commanded, 
and  yet  without  any  remorse;  and  he 
may,  perhaps,  glory  in  this  very  hard- 
ness of  heart!  Many  instances  of  this 
deplorable  state  of  mind  are  to  be  met 
with,  even  among  some  Avho  call  them- 
selves Christians.  If  any  one  can  break 
the  least  of  the  knoAvn  commands'  of 
God,  Avithout  self-condemnation,  it  is 
plain  that  Satan  has  hardened  his  heart. 
If  not  soon  recoA'cred  from  this,  he  will 
be  "past  feeling,"  and  the  conscience,  as 
St.  Paul  says,  Avill  be  "seared  as  with  a 
hot  iron." 

After  a  course  of  self-deception,  fwid 
haA'ing  hardened  his  heart,  the  sinner 
passes  on  to  a  state  of  Blindness,  another 
doAA^uAvard  step  to  perdition.  As  he  had 
Avillfully  closed  his  eyes  against  the  light, 
his  mind  becomes  blinded  and  insensible 
to  the  truth  of  God.  Wo  have  an  ex- 
ample of  blindness  of  mind  among  a 
Avholo  people,  the  Jcavs,  avIio  Avillfully 
closed  their  eyes  against  the  true  light 
Avhich  Avas  exhibited  by  Jesus  Christ, 
rejected  the  Lord  of  life  and  glory,  and 
preferred  a  murderer  before  him.  God, 
in  judgment  "  hath  given  them  the  spirit 
of  slumber,  eyes  that  they  should  not 
see,  and  ears  that  they  should  not  hear; 
let  their  eyes  be  darkened,"  etc.  In 
many  individual  cases,  those  Avho  have 
willfully  hardened  their  hearts,  and  re- 
jected Jesus  Christ,  become  blind  to  all 
moral  excellence,  "  calling  darkness  light, 
and  light  darkness." 

After  the  mind,  by  a  course  of  sin,  be- 


CHRISTIAN    SIMILITUDES. 


lU 


comes  darkened,  the  sinner  commits 
wickedness  in  a  bold  and  daring  man- 
ner, presuming  that  either  God  will  not 
notice  his  actions,  or,  if  he  does,  he  will 
pardon  every  act  he  may  commit.  '■'■Pre- 
sumptuous sins"  Bays  one,  "  must  be  dis- 
tinguished from  sins  of  Infirmity,  or 
those  failings  peculiar  to  human  nature — 
from  sins  done  through  ignorance,  and 
from  sins  into  which  men  are  hui*ried 
by  sudden  and  violent  tem^^tation. 
They  imply  obstinacy,  inattention  to 
the  remonstrance  of  conscience,  and  (rp- 
position  to  the  dispensations  of  Provi- 
dence. Presumptuous  sins  are  numerous, 
such  as  profane  swearing,  perjury,  theft, 
adultery,  drunkenness,  etc.  These  may 
bo  more  particularly  considered  as  pre- 
sumptuous sins,  because  they  are  gener- 
ally committed  against  a  known  law, 
and  so  often  repeated.  ...  As  it  re- 
spects professors  of  religion,  they  sin 
presumptously  when  they  take  up  a 
profession  of  religion  without  principle; 
when  they  do  not  take  religion  as  they 
find  it  in  the  Bible;  when  they  run  into 
temptation,  and,  at  the  same  time,  in- 
dulge in  self-confidence  and  self-compla- 
cency; and  when  professing  to  be  Chris- 
tians, they  live  licentiously,  and  when 
they  magnify  and  pervert  their  troubles, 
arraigning  the  conduct  of  God  as  un- 
kind or  unjust." 

The  last  downward  step  before  enter- 


ing the  blackness  of  final  despair,  may 
be  called  that  of  Desperate  Wickedness. 
The  Apostle  speaks  of  those  "who, 
being  past  all  feeling,  have  given  them- 
selves over  to  lasciviousness,  to  work  ail 
uncleanness  with  greediness."  This  de- 
cribes  one  form  of  desperate  wickedness, 
and  is  a  complete  finish  to  the  most 
abandoned  character.  To  do  a  wicked 
act  IS  bad,  but  to  labor  in  it  is  worse— 
to  labor  in  all  Avickedncss  is  worse  still; 
but  to  do  all  this,  in  every  case,  to  the 
utmost  extent,  with  a  desire  exceeding 
time,  place,  opportunity,  and  strength, 
is  worst  of  all,  and  leaves  nothing  more 
profligate  or  inore  abandoned  to  be  de- 
scribed. To  be  desperately  wicked  is  to 
throw  off  all  sense  of  shame,  and  to  bid 
defiance  to  all  the  threatenings  of  the 
Almighty  against  sin  ;  to  be  despcraie 
is  to  have  neither  the  hope  or  desire  of 
reformation — in  a  word,  to  be  without 
remorse,  and  to  be  utterly  regardless  of 
conduct,  character,  or  final  blessedness. 


Thy  law  and  tliy  gospel  they  despise, 
They  dare  tliy  wrath — of  madness  proud; 

They  scorn  thy  grace,  to  seek  or  prize 
To  bow  too  lofty,  e'en  to  God. 

Downward  to  death  tlie  wicked  go, 
By  sin  led  on,  to  ruin  driven  ; 

Tliey  sink  in  darkness  to  a  world  of  woe, 
And  lind  no  eiUruuce  into  heaven. 


112 


CHRISTIAN     SIMILITUDES, 


ROMANS, 

Chap,  v: 
verse  12. 


PSALM 

xc: 
verse  3. 


PSALM 

Ixxxix : 
verse  48. 


JOB, 
Chap,  vii 
verse  10. 


PSALM 

ciii: 
verses  15,  16. 


\  PSALM 

j  cxliv : 

vei'se  4. 


JOB, 

Chap,  xvii; 

verse  14. 


1  CORINTH'NS 
Chap.  XV  : 
verse  26. 


i;tti-,?.^-~-g~A 


DEATH'S   DOINGS. 

What  man  is  he  that  liveth  and  shall  not  see  death?    Ps.  lxxxix: 

48. All  jiesh  shall  perish  together.     Job.  xxxiv:  15. Death 

passed  upon  all  men.     Rom.  v:  12. — — Thou  turneth  man  to  de- 
struction.    Ps.  xc:  3. 


The  King  of  Terrors  in  his  regal  crown, 
Blinded,  at  hazard,  strikes  his  victims  down; 
The  rich  and  great,  the  beggar,  mean  and  low, 
All  fall  alike  by  hia  resistless  blow; 
The  infant  child,  the  monarch  on  his  throne, 


All  helpless  victims  on  his  path  are  strown; 
The  lonely  maiden  in  her  beauteous  bloom. 
The  aged  man,  all  share  alike  the  doom  ; 
A  stern,  awful  monarch,  'neath  whose  sway 
None  may  resist,  but  all  alike  obey. 


Death  is  usually  represented  by  the 
figure  of  a  human  skeleton.  In  the 
annexed  engraving  he  is  shown  as 
partially  clothed,  so  that  his  form,  so 
awful  to  human  beings,  is  not  always 
perceived.  As  he  is  called  the  "King 
of  Terrors,"  he  wears  a  crown.  As  he 
is  impartial  he  shows  no  favors  to  any 


particular  class.  Ho  is  represented  as 
striking  with  his  fatal  darts,  at  the  same 
time,  the  lame  beggar,  with  his  crutches, 
and  the  beauteous  maiden,  in  the  full 
bloom  and  joy  of  life;  the  haughty  mon- 
arch, with  all  his  insignia  of  roj'alty, 
and  the  little  helpless  child.  In  the 
background  the  minister  of  religion  is 


CHEiSTIAX     SIJ\IiLITUDES. 


ii;i 


seen  warning  his  congregation  of  the 
approach  of  the  great  destroyer. 

"Death  is,  in  itself,  a  most  serious 
and  distressing  event.  It  is  nature's 
supremo  evil,  the  abhorrence  of  God's 
creation,  a  monster  from  whoso  touch 
every  living  thing  recoils  ;  so  that  to 
shrink  from  its  ravages  upon  ourselves, 
or  uj^on  those  we  love,  is  not  an  ai"gu- 
ment  of  weakness,  but  an  act  of  obedi- 
ence to  the  first  law  of  being — a  tribute 
to  the  value  of  that  life  which  is  our 
Maker's  gift. 

The  disregard  which  some  of  old  af- 
fected to  whatever  goes  by  the  name  of 
evil— -the  insensibility  of  others  who 
yield  up  their  souls  to  the  power  of 
fatalism,  and  the  artificial  gaiety  which 
has  occasionally  played  the  comedian 
about  the  dj'ing  bed  of  "philosophy, 
falsely  so  called,"  are  outrages  upon 
decency  and  nature.  "Death  destroys 
both  action  and  enjoyment;  mocks  at 
wisdom,  strength,  and  beaiity;  dis- 
arranges our  plans,  robs  us  of  our 
treasure,  desolates  our  bosoms,  breaks 
our  heart-strings,  blasts  our  hope. 
Death  extinguishes  the  glow  of  kind- 
ness, abolishes  the  most  tender  relations 
of  man,  severs  him  from  all  he  knows 
and  loves,  subjects  him  to  an  ordeal 
which  thousandsof  millions  have  passed, 
but  none  can  explain,  and  which  will 
be  as  ncAV  to  the  last  who  gives  up  the 
ghost  as  it  was  to  murdered  Abel; 
flings  him,  in  fine,  without  avail  from 
the  experience  of  others,  into  a  state 
of  untried  being.  No  wonder  that  na- 
ture trembles  before  it.  Reason  justi- 
fies the  fear.  Religion  never  makes 
light  of  it;  and  he  who  does,  instead 
of  ranking  with  heroes,  can  hardly  de- 
servo  to  rank  with  a  brute." 

"The  best  course  of  moral  instruction 
against  the  passions,"  says  Saurin,  "is 
death."  The  grave  is  a  discoverer  of 
the  absurdity  of  sin  of  every  kind. 
There  the  ambitious  may  learn  the  foll}'^ 
of  ambition;  there  the  vain  may  learn 
the  vanity  of  all  human  things;  there 
26 


the  voluptuous  may  read  a  mortifying 
lesson  on  the  absurdity  of  sensual 
pleasure.  Constantine  the  Great,  in  or- 
der to  reclaim  a  miser,  took  a  lance, 
and  marked  out  a  space  of  ground  the 
size  of  the  human  body,  and  told  him: 
"Add  heap  to  heap,  accumulate  riches 
upon  riches,  extend  the  bounds  of  your 
possessions,  conquer  the  whole  world, 
in  a  few  days  such  a  spot  as  this  will 
be  all  you  will  have.  .  .  .  Death  puts 
an  end  to  the  most  specious  titles,  to 
the  most  dazzling  grandeur,  and  to  the 
most  delicious  life." 

A  sultan,  amusing  himself  with  walk- 
ing, observed  a  dervise  sitting  with  a 
human  skull  in  his  lap,  and  appearing 
to  be  in  a  very  profound  reverie;  hi,^ 
attitude  and  manner  surprised  the  sul- 
tan, who  demanded  the  cause  of  his  be- 
ing so  deeply  engaged  in  reflection. 
"Sire,"  said  the  dervise,  "this  skull 
Avas  presented  to  me  this  morning,  and 
I  have  from  that  moment  been  en- 
deavoring, in  vain,  to  discover  whether 
it  is  the  skull  of  a  powerful  monarch, 
like  your  majesty,  or  a  poor  dervise, 
like  myself"  A  humbling  considera- 
tion, truly! 

"Earth's  highest  station  ends  in,  here  heller! 
And  dust  to  dust  concludes  her  noblest  song." 

When  David  Garrick,  the  celebrated 
actor,  showed  Dr.  Johnson,  the  great 
English  moralist,  his  fine  house,  gar- 
dens, statues,  and  pictures,  at  Hamp- 
ton Court,  the  Doctor,  instead  of  giving 
him  a  flattering  compliment,  as  was 
expected,  replied:  "Ah,  David,  David' 
these  are  the  things  that  make  a  death 
bed  terrible."  xVt  the  re.'^toration  of., 
monarchy  in  England,  a  Fellow  of  one 
of  the  coilegcsat  Cambridge  represented 
to  a  friendthc  great  difl^cnlties  of  con- 
forming, in  point  of  conscience,  to  the 
regulations  required,  concluding,  how- 
ever, with  these  words:  "But  we  must 
live."  To  which  the  other  most  ap- 
propriately  answered,   with   the    same 


114 


CHRISTIAN     SI3IIL1TUDES. 


number  of  words,  "but  we  must  [also] 
die!" 

"  Considering  death  in  itself,  it  is," 
as  a  young  writer  observes,  "a  sad 
scene;  and  the  solemnity  of  the  scene 
increases  as  death  advances.  Every 
step  the  last  enemy  takes  alarms; 
every  fresh  symptom  strikes  terror 
into  the  spectators,  and  spreads  silence 
and  gloominess  through  the  dwelling; 
the  disease  baffles  the  power  of  medi- 
cine. They  who  stand  by  observe  its 
progress;  the  dying  man  watches  their 
looks;  he  suspects  his  case  to  be  des- 
perate. The  physician  at  length  pro- 
nounces it  so;  he  believes  it.  Now  the 
wheel  of  life  goes  down  apace.  The 
vital  flame  burns  faint  and  irregular; 
reason  intermits ;  short  intervals  of 
sense  divide  his  thoughts  and  passions. 
Now  himself  is  the  object;  then  his 
family.  His  friends,  his  relations,  his 
children  crowd  around  his  bed,  shed 
their  unavailing  tears  over  him,  and 
receive  his  last  blessing.  His  pulse 
beats  a  sui'render  to  the  pale  conqueror; 
his  eyes  swim,  his  tongue  falters,  a  cold 
sweat  bedews  his  face;  he  groans,  he 
expires!" 


Pope  Eugenius  IV  summoned  a  coun- 
cil to  meet  at  the  city  of  Basle,  in 
Switzerland,  in  the  year  1431,  which 
mot  and  continued  to  sit  for  seventeen 
years.  At  this  council  the  Po])c  him- 
self and  many  princes  were  present. 
During  this  time  the  city  was  visited 
with  a  plague  which  carried  off  many 
of  the  nobility;  and  on  the  cessation 
of  the  distemper  the  surviving  members 
of  the  council,  with  a  view  to  perpetu- 
ate the  memor}''  of  this  event,  caused 
to  be  painted  on  the  walls  of  the  cem- 
etery a  Dance  of  Death,  representing  all 
ranks  of  persons  as  individually  seized 
\iy  him.  The  figures  are  all  drawn  in 
the  costume  or  habit  of  the  times. 

Holbein,  one  of  the  great  painters  of 
the  German  school,  was  born  in  Jit^sle 


about  1498,  where  he  lived  until  man- 
hood. In  1554  a  series  of  wood -cuts, 
about  fifty  in  number,  from  Holbein's 
drawings,  were  published  in  Basle,  en- 
titled '■■Images  of  Death,''  each  print  be- 
ing accompanied  by  an  admonitory 
stanza  and  a  quotation  from  the  Bible. 
This  unique  specimen  of  art  has  passed 
through  numerous  editions  in  various 
languages.  The  American  edition  has 
a  frontispiece  which  shows  an  open 
grave  in  front,  to  which  a  long  pro- 
cession from  the  city  is  coming,  each 
individual  being  accompanied  by  a  figure 
of  death.  The  Pope  is  seen  at  the 
head,  the  em])eror  next,  and  so  on,  in 
regular  gradation,  according  to  rank. 

Tlie  first  four  of  these  expressive  drawings 
represent  our  first  parents  in  various  situations, 
from  their  creation  till  after  their  expulsion 
from  Paradise.  The  fifth  scene  shows  a  church- 
yard, and  tlie  porch  of  a  church  filled  with  an 
assemblage  of  skeletons,  who  are  blowing 
trumpets  and  other  loud-sounding  instruments, 
evidently  rejoicing  in  triumph.  The  sixth 
shows  the  Pope  in  the  act  of  crowning  an 
emperor  who  kneels  before  him.  Death,  how- 
ever, from  behind  the  throne,  lays  liis  liand 
upon  him,  who  is  the  highest  human  potentate. 
The  seventh  shows  an  emperor  enthroned, 
with  sword  in  hand,  with  his  courtiers  about 
him  ;  a  skeleton  is  seen  bestriding  the  shoulders 
of  the  monarch,  with  his  hands  upon  his  crown. 
In  the  eighth  we  see  a  king  dining  un'ler  a 
canopy,  and  served  by  a  retinue.  He  iiad  in  his 
liand  a  wine-cup,  but  does  not  appear  to  see 
that  Death  is  filling  it.  A  caidinal  appears  in 
the  ninth,  selling  an  indulgence  for  money. 
Death  appears  seizing  liis  hat,  the  symbol  of 
his  rank,  and  is  about  to  tear  it  from  his  head. 

In  the  tenth  design  is  an  empress  in  her 
palace  yard,  attended  by  the  ladies.  Deatli, 
however,  is  by  her  side,  directing  her  attention 
to  an  open  grave.  In  the  next,  Death,  in  the 
guise  of  a  court  fool,  has  seized  the  queen; 
she  shrieks,  and  endeavors  to  free  herself  from 
his  grasp,  but  in  vain.  With  a  grin  of  fierce 
delight  he  holds  up  his  liour-glass,  to  show 
lier  that  he-  time  is  expired.  In  the  twelfth, 
Death  carries  off  a  bishop  from  his  flock.  In 
the  thirteenth  is  an  elector,  or  prince  of  the 
empire,  who  is  apparently  repulsing  a  poor 
woman  and  child  from  his  presence.  But 
Death,  the  avenger  of  the  oppressed  poor, 
with  an  iron  gripe  is  seizing  him  while  stand- 


C  11 II I  S  T  I  A  N     S I  .AI I  L  I T  U  D  E  S . 


115 


ing  among  liis  courtiers.  The  abbot  and  the 
abbess  are  the  subjects  of  tlie  two  next  cuts. 
In  the  former,  Death  has  assumed  the  miter 
and  crosier  of  liis  victim,  and  drags  him  off 
witli  ludicrous  pomp;  lie  drags  off  the  abbess 
by  the  ecapulary  which  hangs  about  her 
neck. 

A  gentleman  ancl  a  canon  figure  in  the  six- 
teenth and  seventeenth  groups — the  judge,  the 
advocate,  and  the  magistrate;  the  vices  pe- 
culiar to  these  stations  only  are  satirically 
disp'aycd.  The  curate  is  next  represented ; 
behind  him  stands  Death,  who  holds  up  the 
jaw  of  a  skeleton  over  his  head,  as  being 
more  eloquent  than  his  own.  A  priest  and 
mendicant  friar  appear  next.  The  twenty- 
fourth  is  a  youthful  nun,  kneeling  before  the 
oratory  in  her  cell.  The  next  in  order  are  the 
old  woman,  the  physician,  and  astrologer.  To 
the  physician.  Death,  as  in  mockery,  is  bring- 
ing him  a  patient;  to  the  astrologer,  who  is 
looking  up  to  a  celestial  sphere,  Death  holds 
up  a  skull  before  him,  inviting  him  to  con- 
template that  sphere  before  the  other.  The 
miser  comes  next,  from  whom  Death  snatches 
liis  gold.  The  merchant  and  mariner  follow. 
Death  takes  away  the  merchant  from  his 
ships  and  merchandise,  and  is  snapping  the 
mast  of  the  mariner's  vessel. 

The  knight  or  soldier  is  represented  as  in  a 
desperate  conflict  with  Death.  The  count  and 
an  old  man  come  next.  A  countess,  while 
examing  a  new  dress,  is  seen,  with  Death  by 
her  side,  adjusting  a  collar  about  her  neck. 
Death  appears  before  the  newly-married  couple 
beating  a  tabor  with  joy.  lie  seizes  the 
duchess  as  she  is  sitting  on  her  bed  or  couch. 
The  next  cut  represents  a  heavy  loaded  porter, 
whom  Death  is  taking  from  under  his  burden. 
The  peasant,  or  plowman,  comes  next,  of 
whose  four-horse  team  Death  is  the  driver. 
The  next  is  an  affecting  scene,  approaching  to 
the  strongest  sympathies  of  the  human  heart 
Aside  from  this,  it  shows  the  impartiality  of 
Death,  who 

"Invades  with  the  same  step 
The  hovels  of  beggars  and  the  palaces  of  kings." 

The  mother  is  seen  in  a  poor  cottage  pre- 
paring, with  a  few  small  sticks,  a  scanty  meal 
Death  enters,  seizes  the  hand  of  the  youngest 
child,  who  turns  and  stretches  the  other  im- 
ploringly to  his  mother,  who  is  frantic  with 
grief  A  battle  scene  between  Death  and  a 
Swiss  soldier  is  depicted;  the  field  is  covered 


with  the  wounded  and  slain,  in  the  midst  of 
which  he  encounters  iiis  last  enemy. 

A  group  of  gamesters  are  next  presented. 
Death  appears  to  be  strangling  one  of  the  com- 
pany, probably  designed  to  show  one  method  of 
suicide  committed  by  those  given  to  games  ot 
chance.  Next,  a  drunken  German  debauch,  as 
the  actors  appeared  four  centuries  ago.  Death 
has  seized  one  of  the  poor  besotted  creatures, 
and  turns  the  fatal  liquor  down  his  throat 
Then,  in  succession,  follow  the  tool,  the  thief, 
and  the  blind  man.  The  fool  is  accompanied 
by  a  figure  of  Death  playing  on  a  bagpipe; 
the  thief,  or  highwayman,  is  seen  in  the  act 
of  robbing  a  helpless  woman.  Death,  how- 
ever, has  his  bony  fingers  grasping  the  neck 
of  the  thief,  indicative  of  the  fate  which  awaits 
him.  The  blind  man  is  led  by  a  skeleton, 
who  appears  blind  also. 

The  forty-seventh  design  in  this  singular 
work  is  an  admirable  representation  of  a  poor, 
decrepid  beggar,  forsaken  by  his  fellow-men. 
Some  of  liis  limbs  are  withered  by  disease, 
and  his  body  is  nearly  destitute  of  clothing. 
To  add  to  his  misery,  a  number  of  persons 
are  pointing  at  him  the  finger  of  scorn  and 
derision.  Death  is  not  seen  near  him,  as  he  is 
with  the  other  characters  represented.  This 
circumstance  has  puzzled  the  critics  and  anti- 
quarians, who  askeil  what  was  the  reason  of 
the  omission.  It  might  be  to  show  that  to 
him  to  whom  Death  would  be  a  relief,  Death 
oftentimes  seems  to  delay  his  coming. 

Among  the  four  last  scenes  that  are  rep- 
resented, is  one  showing  the  liusband  and  wite. 
Death  is  seen  leading  away  the  husband  by 
part  of  his  dress,  which  he  has  seized  and 
thrown  over  his  shoulder.  The  wife  has  her 
hand  grasped  by  Death,  who  is  taking  her 
away,  unmindful  of  her  tears.  The  work 
ends,  as  a  connected  series,  with  a  repre- 
sentation, partly  figurative  and  partly  literal, 
of  what  will  take  place  at  the  consummation 
of  all  things.  Clirist,  the  Conqueror  of 
Death,  and  final  Judge  of  all,  attended  with 
the  hosts  above,  appears  in  the  clouds  of 
heaven  seated  on  the  bow  of  Promise,  The 
celestial  sphere  showing  the  ecliptic,  with  the 
signs  of  the  zodiac,  the  carlh  in  the  center, 
etc.,  is  seen  beneath  the  Judge,  thus  showing 
that  all  worlds  are  under  him,  and  that  he 
views  them  all  atone  glance.  An  assemblage 
of  human  beings,  apparently  jnst  raised  from 
their  graves,  stand  before  their  Judge,  to  be 
dealt  with  according  to  the  deeds  done  in  the 
body. 


116 


CHRISTIAN     SIMILITUDES. 


PROYERBS, 
Chap,  xii: 
verse  22. 


1  JOHN, 

Chap,  iv : 

verse  1. 


PSALM 

Iviii: 
verse  3, 


JEREMIAH, 

Chap,  xxiii : 

verse  32. 


EZEKIEL, 

Chap,  xiii : 
verse  9. 


PSALM 

Iv: 
verse  11, 


EPHESIANS, 
Chap,  iv: 
verse  14. 


REVELATION, 

Chap,  xxi : 

verse  8. 


THE  LYING  DEMON. 

Woe  unto  them  that  put  darkness  for  light,  and  light  for  darkness. 

Isa.  V  :   20. Speaking  lies  is  hypocrisy.     1  Tim.  iv  :  2. He 

that  speakeih  lies  shall  perish.     Prov.  xix  :  9. 


Behold  the  Lying  Demon  thus  disgrace 
The  robes  of  truth — she  hides  her  hideous  face 
Behind  a  mask,  and  in  her  hand  she  bears 
The  broken  mirror,  which  distorted  wears 
False  images,  most  like  her  own  deceit. 
The  weeping  Crocodile  beneath  her  feet; 
The  misnamed  globes  of  darkness  and  of  light, 
To  which  her  lying  lips  direct  the  sight; 


Truth's  sacred  records  trampled  under  foot, 
And  man's  vain  theories,  their  substitute. 
While  o'er  her  flies  the  dusky  bird  of  night, 
Emblem  of  deeds  that  dare  not  meet  the  light' 
False  infidelity  upholds  her  form. 
Soon  to  be  swept  before  the  rising  storm ; 
All  these  her  hideous  character  declare, 
And  each  some  token  of  deception  bear. 


The  Lyinc;  Demon  is  here  represented 
by  a  hideous  figure  dressed  somewhat 
in  the  resemblance  of  Truth.  She  wears 
a  mask  to  hide  the  deformity  of  her 
features.  She  holds  up  a  mirror,  it  is 
true,  but  it  is  broken,  which  reflects 
everything  in  a  distorted  and  disjointed 
manner.  Two  hemispheres  are  exhib- 
ited,   one    light,    the    other    dark;    she 


points  to  the  latter,  and  calls  it  light. 
By  her  side  is  seen  the  crocodile,  who  is 
uttering  a  cry  of  distress,  for  the  pur- 
pose of  drawing  other  animals  within 
its  reach,  so  that  it  may  devour  them  ; 
it  is,  therefore,  properly  an  emblem  of 
lying  and  of  fraud. 

The  demon  is  shown  trampling  the 
records  of  truth  under  her  feet;  she  ba« 


CHRISTIAN     SIMILITUDES. 


117 


various  masks  at  hand  to  be  worn  on 
certain  Occasions.  By  her  side  are  va- 
rious infidel  works,  amone^  which  are 
those  of  Paine,  Voltaire;  also,  the  book 
of  Mormon.  Above  her  flies  the  bat, 
the  bird  of  night,  the  emblem  of  dark- 
ness. The  Lying  Demon  stands  on  the 
sandy  foundation  of  Atheism  and  Infidel- 
ity, which  the  rising  storm  and  flood 
will  sweep  away  with  the  besom  of  de- 
struction. 

Lying  lips  are  an  abomination  to  the 
Lord.  All  men  must  acknowledge  lying 
to  be  one  of  the  most  scandalous  sins 
that  can  be  committed  between  man  and 
man — a  crime  of  a  deep  dye  and  of  an 
extensive  nature,  leading  into  innumer- 
able sins — for  lying  is  practiced  to  de- 
ceive, to  injure,  betray,  rob,  destroy,  and 
the  like.  Lying,  in  this  sense,  is  the 
concealment  of  all  other  crimes — the 
sheep's  clothing  upon  the  wolf's  back, 
the  Pharisee's  own  prayer,  the  harlot's 
blush,  the  hypocrite's  i^aint,  the  mur- 
derer's smile,  the  thief's  cloak,  and 
Judas'  kiss.  In  a  word,  it  is  the  devil's 
distinguished  characteristic. 

Lying  is  defined  by  Paley,  "  as  a 
breach  of  promise,  for  whoever  seriously 
addresses  his  discourse  to  another,  tacitly 
promises  to  speak  the  truth,  because  he 
knows  that  truth  is  expected.  There 
aie  various  kinds  of  lies:  first,  the  per- 
nicious lie,  uttered  for  the  hurt  or  dis- 
advantage of  our  neighbor;  second,  the 
oflScious  lie,  uttered  for  our  own  or  our 
neighbor's  advantage;  third,  the  ludi- 
crous and  jocose  lie,  uttered  by  way  of 
jest,  and  only  for  mirth's  sake,  in  com- 
mon converse;  fourth,  pious  frauds,  as 
they  are  improperly  called,  pretended 
inspirations,  forged  books,  counterfeit 
miracles,  are  species  of  lies;  fifth,  lies  of 
the  conduct,  for  a  lie  may  be  told  in 
gestures  as  well  as  in  words;  sixth,  lies 
of  omission,  as  when  an  author  willfully 
omits  what  ought  to  be  related;  and 
may  wo  not  all  admit,  seventh,  that 
equivocation  and  mental  reservation  come 
under  the  guilt  of  lying. 


The  evil  and  injustice  of  this  crime 
appears,  first,  from  its  being  a  breach  of 
the  natural  and  universal  right  of  all 
men  to  truth  in  the  intercourse  of  speech ; 
second,  for  its  being  a  violation  of  God's 
law;  third,  the  faculty  of  speech  was 
bestowed  on  us  as  an  instrument  of 
knowledge,  not  of  deceit;  to  communi- 
cate our  thoughts,  not  to  hide  them  ; 
fourth,  it  has^a  tendency  to  dissolve  all 
society;  fifth,  the  punishment  of  it  is 
great,  the  hatred  of  those  whom  we  have 
deceived,  and  an  eternal  separation  from 
God  in  the  world  to  come. 

Truth  is  alwa3'S  consistent  with  itself, 
and  needs  nothing  to  help  it  out.  It  is 
alwa3^s  near  at  hand,  sits  upon  our  lips, 
and  is  ready  to  drop  out  before  we  are 
aware;  whereas  a  lie  is  troublesome, 
sets  a  man's  imagination  upon  the  rack, 
and  before  it  gets  over  half  its  journey 
needs  many  more  to  hold  it  up  from  the 
ground.  It  is  like  a  building  upon 
a  false  foundation,  which  continuall}' 
needs  props  to  shore  it  up,  and  which 
proves  at  last  more  expensive  than  to 
have  raised  a  substantial  building  at 
first  upon  a  true  and  solid  foundation. 
The  crafty  man  is  always  in  danger  ;  and 
when  he  thinks  he  walks  in  the  dark, 
all  his  pretenses  are  so  transparent  that 
he  that  runs  may  read  them.  He  thinks 
he  is  making  fools  of  others,  but  instead 
makes  the  greatest  fool  of  himself 

"Almost  every  other  vice,"  saj's  an 
excellent  writer,  "may  be  kept  in  coun- 
tenance by  applause  and  association ; 
even  the  robber  and  cut-throat  have 
their  followers,  who  admire  their  ad- 
dress and  intrepidity,  their  stratagems 
of  rapine,  and  their  fidelity  to  the  gang; 
but  the  liar  is  universally  despised, 
abandoned,  and  disowned.  He  has  no 
domestic  consolations  which  he  can  op- 
pose to  the  censure  of  mankind.  He 
can  retire  to  no  fraternity  where  his 
crimes  may  stand  in  the  place  of  vir- 
tues; but  "is  given  up  to  the  hisses  of 
the  multitude  without  a  friend,  without 
an  apologist."     "  The  very  devils,"  says 


118 


CHRISTIAN     SIMILITUDES. 


one,  "  do  not  tell  lies  to  one  another;  for 
truth  is  necessary  to  all  societies,  nor 
can  the  society  of  hell  svibsist  without  it." 

The  sin  of  lying  consists  in  declaring 
for  true  any  thing  that  is  false.  If  we 
say  or  do  any  thing  to  deceive,  even  if 
we  speak  not  a  word,  we  are  guilty  of 
falsehood,  as  in  the  following  instances: 
Suppose  a  man  to  be  traveling  to  York 
on  horseback,  and  comes  to  a  place 
where  two  roads  meet.  The  right-hand 
road  is  the  one  he  should  take,  but  he  is 
a  stranger,  and  does  not  know  it.  He 
sees  a  person  in  the  road,  and  asks  him 
which  is  the  way  to  York?  The  man 
says  nothing,  but  points  to  the  left-hand 
road.  After  traveling  some  considerable 
distance,  he  fotops  to  get  refreshment  for 
himself  and  horse,  saying,  "I  wish  to 
get  to  York  to-night,  and  1  suppose  this 
is  the  right  road?  "  The  man  says  noth- 
ing, but  laughs  at  the  traveler's  mistake 
when  he  is  out  of  sight.  These  men 
were  guilty  of  falsehood,  though  they 
did  not  say  a  Avord.  The  first  deceived 
the  traveler,  and  committed  a  lie  by 
pointing  in  a  direction  he  know  to  be 
wrong;  the  second  deceived  the  traveler 
by  his  silence,  for  he  intended,  by  saj'ing 
nothing,  to  make  the  man  believe  that 
ho  was  right. 

A  person  may  be  guilty  of  falsehood 
even  in  speaking  the  truth,  as  in  the 
following  instances:  "I  can  not  find 
Mary,"  says  one  girl  to  another,  "have 
you  seen  her?"  "Yes,"  was  the  rejily, 
"I  have."  She  had  not  seen  her  for 
days,  and  knew  that  her  companion 
meant  whether  she  had  seen  her  just 
then.  She  was  guilty  of  falsehood,  be- 
cause she  wished  to  make  the  other  be- 
lieve that  she  had  seen  Mary  a  little 
time  before. 

Parents  sometimes  unwittingly  edu- 
cate their  children  to  deceit  and  lying. 
The  mother,  perhaps,  when  giving  her 
child  unpleasant  medicine,  says,  "Here 
is  something  good  for  you."     The  child, 


when  it  has  swallowed  the  bitter  potion, 
cries  out,  "You  said  it  was  good."  "So 
it  is  good — for  your  cough,''  replied  the 
mother.  A  man  signed  a  promise  that 
he  would  never  drink  intoxicatirg 
liquor,  unless  it  was  ordered  by  a  phy- 
sician. Afterward  he  wished  to  get  rid 
of  his  promise,  and  persiiaded  a  phy- 
sician to  order  him  to  drink  brandy, 
when  the  latter  joined  him,  and  the  two 
got  drunk  together. 

In  the  first  age  of  the  Christian  Church, 
the  Almighty,  in  a  striking  manner, 
showed  his  displeasure  against  deception 
and  lying,  by  striking  dead  Ananias 
and  Sapphira  in  the  very  act.  God 
made  this  guilty  pair  an  example  of  his 
justice  to  show  his  utter  abhorrence  of 
hypocrisy  and  deceit.  In  the  book  of 
Revelation  it  is  declared  that  "all  liars 
shall  have  their  part  in  the  lake  that 
burnetii  with  fire  and  brimstone,  which 
is  the  second  death."  "The  word  liars, 
in  this  passage,"  says  an  able  commen- 
tator, "  signifies  every  one  who  speaks 
contrary  to  the  truth,  when  he  knows 
the  truth  ;  and  even  he  who  speaks  the 
truth  with  the  intention  to  deceive,  i.  e.  to 
persuade  a  person  that  a  thing  is  dif- 
ferent from  what  it  really  is  by  telling 
only  a  part  of  the  truth,  or  suppressing 
some  circumstance  Avhich  would  have 
led  the  hearer  to  a  clifi'erent  and  the 
true  conclusion.  All  these  shall  have 
their  portion,  their  share,  what  oelongs 
to  them,  their  right,  in  the  lake  that 
burneth  with  fire  and  brimstone.  This 
is  the  second  death,  from  which  there  is 
no  recovery." 


"The  liar  laugheth  in  sorrow,  he  -weepeth  in 
joy:  he  workcth  in  the  darkness  as  a  mole,  and 
fancieth  he  is  safe;  but  he  blnndereth  into  light, 
and  is  exposed  to  full  view,  with  dirt  on  his  head. 
He  lives  in  perpetual  constraint,  for  his  tongue 
and  his  heart  are  at  variance,  and  the  business 
of  his  life  is  to  deceive."  As  he  has  shunned 
the  light,  darkness  eternal  will  be  his  portion. 


CIUIISTIAN     SIiMILITUDi-b. 


119 


PSALM 

cxxi : 
verse  4. 


PSALM 
xcv: 

verse  7. 


ISAIAII, 

Chap,  liii: 
verso  6. 


[lEBEEWS, 

Chap,  xili: 

verse  20. 


MATTHEW, 
Chap.  XV: 
verse  24. 


1  PETEE, 
Chap,  v: 
verso  4. 


THE  iIP:AVENLY  SHEPHERD. 

Before  I  was  afflicted  I  went  astray      Ps.  cxrx :  67. Now  re- 
turned unto  the  Shepherd  and  Bishop  of  your  souls.     1  Pet.  ii:  25. 

When  in  the  wilds  the  heedless  sheep  would  stray,  I  He  takes  a  lamb  and  bears  it  up  the  hill, 
And  wander  careless  from  the  beaten  way;  |  Up  the  steep  path  the  mother  follows  still, 

In  vain  the  Shepherd  every  art  would  try.  Till  in  the  upland  pastures,  green  and  fair. 

To  make  them  follow  him  to  pastures  high.  I  The  sheep  and  lambs  are  safely  folded  there. 


The  care  of  the  good  Shepherd  ex- 
tends equally  to  every  member  of  his 
flock.  He  sees  danger  when  it  is  afar 
off.  The  picture  illustrates  his  faithful- 
ness. One  of  his  flock,  while  wander- 
ing in  the  pasture,  came,  in  the  heat 
of  the  day,  to  a  cool,  shady  recess  in 
the  adjacent  forests,  not  knowing  that 
wild  beasts  lurked  there  for  his  de- 
struction. His  warning  voice  having 
failed  to  stop  the  wanderer,  he  has  run 
and  seized  her  lamb,  took  it  to  his 
bosom  and  moves  away  in  another  di- 
rection. By  the  instinctive  love  of 
her  offspring,  the  dam  turns  and  fol- 
lows the  shepherd   Avho  holds  the  dar- 


ling in  his  embrace.  By  this  means 
both  are  preserved  from  the  destroyer 
and  brought  into  the  fold  of  safety. 

In  like  manner,  the  heavenly  Shep- 
herd watches  over  us,  the  sheep  of  his 
pasture.  He  often  corrects  us,  and  in 
mercy  prevents  us  from  pursuing  our 
chosen  ways  which  lead  to  destruction. 
When  nothing  else  will  stop  us  on  our 
wayward  course,  he  will  seize  some 
darling  and  beloved  object,  and  thereby 
turn  us  to  himself  Perhaps  God  takes 
an  idolized  child,  the  dear  object  of 
our  affections,  to  himself.  The  world 
has  now  lost  its  charms.  Where  shall 
we,   then,  go  for   comfort   but   to   the 


120 


CJllISTIAN     SIMILITUDES. 


heavenly  Shepherd?  He  carries  the 
lambs  in  his  bosom;  he  is  touched  with 
the  feeling  of  our  infirmities;  he  took 
our  darling  to  himself,  and  will  he  not 
restore  him  at  the  great  day  if  we  fol- 
low him? 

Yes,  veril}^!  our  Divine  Shepherd,  if 
we  follow  him  and  keep  his  command- 
ments, will  freely  give  us  all  things. 
"Like  as  a  Father  pitieth  his  children, 
80  the  Lord  pitieth  them  that  fear  him. 
For  he  knoweth  our  frame,  he  remem- 
bereth  that  we  are  bat  dust."  It  is 
true  that  he  may  and  does  afflict  us,  but 
we  may  rest  assured  it  is  for  our  good. 
Says  the  roj^al  Psalmist:  "Before  I  was 
afflicted  I  went  astray,  but  now  have 
I  kept  thy  word."  The  Apostle  also 
declares,  "  Whom  the  Lord  loveth  ho 
chasteneth,  and  scourgeth  every  one 
that  he  receiveth  ;  nevertheless,  it  yield- 
eth  the  peaceable  fruits  of  righteous- 
ness." 

Instead  of  mumuring  when  the  heav- 
enly She])herd  takes  one  of  the  lambs 
to  himself,  to  dwell  forever  in  his  im- 
mediate presence,  eternally  shut  in  from 
all  harm  or  danger,  would  it  not  more 
become  vis  to  rejoice,  or  at  least  submit 
to  his  will?  The  following  Scottish  le- 
gend is  to  the  point: 

"A  married  couple  of  the  highlanders 
had  thrice  lost  their  only  child,  each 
dying  at  an  early  age.  Upon  the  death 
of  the  last  the  father  became  boisterous, 
and  uttered  his  complaints  in  the  loud- 
est tones. 

The  death  of  the  child  happened  late 
in  the  spring,  when,  in  the  inhabited 
straths,  sheep  were  abroad;  but  from 
the  blasts  in  that  high  and  stormy  re- 
gion, they  were  still  confined  in  the 
cot.  In  a  dismal,  stormy  evening, 
the  man,  unable  to  stifle  his  anguish, 
went  out,  lamenting  aloud  for  a  lamb 
to  treat  his  friends  with  at  the  wake 
(or  funeral  feast).  At  the  door  of  the 
sheep-cote  he  found  a  stranger  standing. 
He  was  astonished,  in  such  a  night,  so 
far   from   any  frequented    place!     The 


mysterious  visitor  was  plainly  attired, 
but  he  had  a  countenance  expressive 
of  singular  mildness  and  benevolence ; 
and,  addressing  the  father  in  a  sweet 
impressive  voice,  asked  what  he  did 
there  amid  the  tempest. 

He  was  filled  with  awe,  which  he  could  not 
account  for,  and  said  lie  came  for  a  lamb. 

"What  kuid  of  a  Iamb  do  you  mean  to 
take?     said  the  stranger. 

'•The  very  best  that  I  can  find,"  he  replied, 
"as  it  is  to  entertain  my  friends;  and  I  hope 
you  will  share  of  it." 

"Do  your  sheep  make  any  resistance  when 
you  take  away  the  lambs?" 

"  Never,"  was  the  answer. 

"How  differently  am  I  treated,"  said  the 
traveler;  "when  I  come  to  visit  my  sheep-fold, 
I  take,  as  I  am  well  entitled  to  do,  the  best 
lamb  to  myself,  and  my  ears  are  filled  with 
the  clamor  of  discontent  by  these  ungrateful 
sheep,  whom  I  have  fed,  watched,  and  pro- 
tected." 

He  looked  up  in  amazement,  but — the  vision 
had  fled. 

The  following  descriptive  lines  are  appropri- 
ate to  our  subject.  They  were  addressed  to  a 
friend  by  the  late  Mrs.  Lowell,  after  the  death 
of  a  child.  They  describe  the  method  adopted 
by  the  shepherd  of  the  Alps  to  lead  his  flock 
to  a  new  and  better  pasture: 

"They  in  the  valley's  sheltering  care, 

Soon  crop  the  meadows'  tender  prime, 

And  when  the  sod  grows  brown  and  bare, 

The  shepherd  tries  to  make  them  climb 

To  airy  shelves  of  pasture  green. 

That  hang  along  the  mountain's  side, 

Where  grass  and  flowers  together  lean, 

And  down  through  mist  the  sunbeams  glide. 

But  naught  can  tempt  the  timid  things 
The  steep  and  rugged  path  to  try; 

Though  sweet  the  sheplierd  calls  and  sings, 
And  seared  below  the  pastures  lie. 

Till  in  his  arms  his  lambs  he  takes. 

Along  the  dizzy  verge  to  go; 
Then  heedless  of  the  rifts  and  breaks, 

They  follow  on  o'er  rock  and  snow. 

And  in  those  pastures,  lifted  fair, 
More  dewy-soft  than  lowland  mead, 

The  shepherd  drops  his  tender  care. 
And  sheep  and  lambs  together  feed." 


CHRISTIAN     SIMILITUDES, 


121 


1  COEINTH'NS 

Chap,  ii: 
verse  14. 


1  CORINTH'NS 
Chap.  XV : 
verse  46. 


EPHESIANS, 
Chap,  ii: 
verse  3. 


EOMANS, 

Chap,  v: 
verse  20. 


r^/TruRp^^ 


PROVEIIBS, 
Chap,  iii: 
verse  34. 


EOMAXS, 
Chap,  iii: 
verse  24. 


2  PETER, 
Chaj).   i: 
verse  3. 


ROMANS, 
Chap,  vi: 
verse  22. 


THE  THREE  LIVES. 

For  they  that  are  after  the  flesh  do  mind  the  things  of  the  flesh; 
but  they  that  are  after  the  Spirit,  the  thinr/s  of  the  Spirit.  Horn,  viii : 
5. In  the  world  to  come,  life  everlasting.     Luke  xviii :  30. 


Seb  here  the  wretch,  low  groveling  in  the  mire, 
Companion  of  the  filthy;   no  desire 
Beyond  the  present  lilts  his  foul  from  earth; 
He  knows  no  joys  save  those  of  meanest  birth; 
The  poison  cup  he  drinks,  and  deeper  roll 
The  tides  of  sin  and  folly  o'er  his  soul; 
The  Life  of  Nature  thus  appears  to  view, 
Herding  with  swine,  partakes  their  groveling  too; 
But  see,  redeemed,  a  wondrous  change  appears, 
His  cheeks  are  wet  with  penitential  tears; 
The  bow  of  promise  shines  before  his  eyes, 


nis  arms  are  lifted  toward  the  smiling  skies. 
The  dove  of  peace,  with  olive-branch,  beliold, 
And  near,  the  shepherd  with  his  peaceful  fold. 
Sweet  emblems  these,  in  which  the  soul  maj  trace 
New  life  begun  below,  the  Life  of  Grace. 
See!  higher  still,  beside  the  heavenly  pates, 
A  starry  crown  the  ransomed  soul  awaits; 
And  angel  legions,  in  a  loving  band, 
Their  ransomed  brother  greet  with  open  hand; 
A  Lyfe  of  Glory  thus  begun  on  high, 
Still  leading  on  through  vast  eternity. 


The  engraving  represents  man  in 
three  kinds  or  modes  of  life.  The  h)wcr 
part  shows  man  in  a  state  of  nature, 


generally  designated  as  a  state  of  sin, 
or  sinful  Vfe.  lie  is  seated,  apparently 
at  his  ease,  beside  a  hog,  who  is  wal- 


122 


CHEISTIAN     SIMILITUDES. 


lowing  in  filth.  He  is  in  close  contact 
with  ferocious  and  unclean  ajnimals, 
and  has  the  cup  of  intoxication  in  his 
grasp.  The  scene  immediately  above 
shows  man  in  a  state  or  life  of  grace. 
On  one  hand  is  a  dove,  with  an  olive- 
branch  ;  on  the  other,  a  flock  of  sheep, 
emblems  of  peace,  purity,  and  the  flock 
of  Christ.  The  man's  arms  are  extended, 
as  in  prayer,  toward  the  rainbow  of 
promise  just  before  him.  In  the  upper 
part  of  the  engraving  the  man  appears 
in  a  state  or  life  of  glory.  Having  ob- 
tained the  victory  he  is  crowned;  he  is 
introduced  into  the  society  of  angels, 
and  is  going  still  upward  into  the  pres- 
ence of  Deity. 

The  natural  man  is  he  who  places 
his  supreme  happiness  in  the  things 
of  the  world,  living  to  gratify  the  de- 
sires of  the  flesh,  the  desire  of  the  eye, 
or  the  pride  of  life.  Many  have  no 
higher  aspirations  than  mere  swine, 
and  brutalize  their  minds  and  bodies. 
Some  arc  like  wild  boasts,  fighting  and 
devouring  each  other.  A  blindness 
comes  over  their  minds,  and  the}''  feel 
secure,  being  insensible  to  the  dangers 
to  which  they  are  exposed.  They  have 
no  fear  of  God,  because  they  know  him 
not. 

Far  above  the  natural  man  is  the 
Christian,  or  he  who  is  existing  in  a 
life  of  grace.  He  looks  upward  and 
walks  by  faith;  his  affections  are  set  on 
things  above  and  not  on  things  of  the 
earth.  His  life  of  grace  commences 
wiien  ho  turns  from  sin  unto  holiness. 
"  That  which  is  born  of  the  Spirit  is 
spirit."  As  the  effect  of  his  natural 
birth  introduces  him  into  a  state  of  sin, 
the  effect  of  this  new  birth  is  to  make 
him  holy.  He  loves  what  before  he 
hated,  and  hates  what  before  he  loved. 
Laying  hold  of  the  promises  of  God, 
he  sees  with  an  eye  of  faith  his  eternal 
inheritance.  Having  such  a  view  of 
the  future,  visible  things,  by  which  he 
is  surrounded,  appear  comparatively  of 
small  value,    as   he   sees  they  are   but 


temporal,  passing  away  like  a  shadow, 
while  a  life  of  glory  is  eternal. 

The  life  of  glory  is  entered  at  death 
by  him  who  has  been  prepared  for  it, 
by  a  life  of  grace  in  the  present  woi'ld. 
In  fact,  it  is  a  blessed  consummation 
of  that  spiritual  or  gracious  life,  which 
was  kindled  up  in  the  soul  when  on  the 
earth.  He  reviews  the  crown  of  life 
everlasting,  and  is  attended  by  a  con- 
voy of  angelic  beings,  who  are  sent  to 
minister  to  the  heirs  of  salvation.  The 
emblem  of  the  Deity,  (one  in  three, 
and  three  in  one,)  with  radiations  of 
glory,  is  seen  above,  showing  that  God 
will  forever  dwell  with  his  people. 
Palms  of  victory  are  waving  to  show 
that  they  have  overcome  the  world, 
and  are  received  as  conquerors  through 
him  that  hath  loved  them  and  gave  him- 
self for  them ;  their  robes  are  washed  and 
made  white  in  the  blood  of  the  Lamb. 

In  this  life  of  glory  they  are  before 
the  throne  of  God,  and  serve  him  day 
and  night  in  his  temple.  The  Lord 
Jesus,  enthroned  in  glory,  will  commu- 
nicate to  his  peoj)le  every  thing  calcu- 
lated to  secure,  continue,  and  increase 
their  happiness.  He  will  lead  thera 
into  living  fountains  of  w^ater  con- 
stantly boiling  up  and  running  on. 

"By  these  perpetual  fountahis,"  saj's 
a  writer,  "we  are  to  understand  endless 
sources  of  comfort  and  happiness,  which 
Jesus  Christ  will  open  out  of  his  own 
infinite  plenitude  to  all  glorified  souls. 
These  eternal  living  fountains  will 
make  an  infinite  variety  in  the  enjoy- 
ments of  the  blessed.  There  will  be  no 
sameness,  and,  consequently,  no  cloying 
with  the  perpetual  enjoyments  of  the 
same  things;  every  moment  will  open 
a  new  source  of  pleasure,  instruction, 
and  improvement;  they  shall  make  an 
eternal  progression  into  the  fullness  of 
God." 

"As  God  is  infinite,  so  his  attributes 
are  infinite;  and  throughout  infinity 
more  and  more  of  those  attributes  will 
be    discovered,    and    the    discovery    of 


CHEISTIAN     SIMILITUDES. 


123 


each  will  bo  a  new  foundation,  or  source 
of  pleasure  or  enjoyment.  These  sources 
must  be  opening  through  all  eternity; 
and  yet,  through  all  eternity,  there 
will  still  remain,  in  the  absolute  per- 
fections of  the  Godhead,  an  infinity  of 
them  to  be  opened!"  Hence  it  is,  that 
the  Christian,  in  the  progress  of  his 
history,  lives  three  lives — first,  a  life  of 
sense,  or  nature;  then  a  life  of  faith; 
and,  lastly  and  eternally,  a  life  of  glory. 

Dr.  Doddridge,  the  celebrated  author 
of  the  commentary  on  the  New  Testa- 
ment, spent  many  happy  hours  in  re- 
ligious conversation  with  Dr.  Clarke, 
an  intimate  friend.  Among  other  mat- 
ters, a  very  fiivorite  topic  was  the  in- 
termediate state  of  the  soul.  They 
were  of  the  opinion  that  at  the  instant 
of  dissolution  the  soul  was  not  imme- 
diately introduced  into  the  presence  of 
all  the  heavenly  host,  nor  into  the  full 
glory  of  the  heavenly  state.  One  even- 
ing, after  a  conversation  of  this  nature, 
Dr.  Doddridge  retired  to  rest  with  his 
mind  full  of  the  subject  discussed;  and 
in  "the  visions  of  the  night,"  while 
the  eyes  of  the  body  were  closed  in 
sleep,  he,  in  a  certain  sense,  passed  into 
another  life,  and  by  another  power,  as 
yet  unknown  to  mortals,  he  saw,  heard, 
and  acted. 

In  his  dream,  he  was  at  the  house  of 
his  friend,  where  he  was  suddenly 
taken  ill.  By  degrees,  he  seemed  to 
himself  to  grow  worse,  and  at  last  to 
expire.  In  an  instant  he  was  sensible 
that  he  had  passed  into  another  and 
higher  state  of  existence.  He  had  ex- 
changed a  state  of  mortality  and  sufter- 
ing  for  one  of  immortality  and  happi- 
ness. Embodied  in  an  aerial  form,  he 
seemed  to  float  in  a  region  of  pure 
light.  There  was  naught  below  but 
the  melancholy  group  of  his  friends 
weeping  around  his  lifeless  remains. 
Himself  thrilled  with  joy,  he  was 
surprised  at  their  tears,  and  attempted 
to  inform  them  of  his  happy  change, 
but  by  some  mysterious  power  utter- 


ance was  denied;  he  rose  silently  upon 
the  air,  and  their  forms  gradually  re- 
ceded from  his  sight. 

"While    in    golden    clouds,    he   found 
himself    swiftly    mounting    the    skies 
with    a   venerable    figure    at   his    side, 
guiding  his  mysterious  movements,  in 
whose   countenance    he    remarked   the 
lineaments  of  youth  and  old  age  blended 
together   with    an    intimate    harmony 
and  majestic  sweetness.     They  traveled 
together   through  a  vast  space,    until, 
at  length,  the  towers  of  a  glorious  edi- 
fice appeared   in   the   distance ;  and  as 
its    form    arose    brilliant   and    distinct 
among  the  far-ofl^"  shadows  across  their 
path,  the  guide  informed  him  that  the 
palace  he  beheld  was,  for  the  present, 
to    be    his    mansion    of  rest.     Shortlj' 
they  were  at  the  door,  where  they  en- 
tered.    The  guide  introduced  him  into 
a  spacious  apartment,  at  the  extremity 
of  which  stood  a  table,  covered  with  a 
snow-white  cloth,  a  golden  cup,  and  a 
cluster   of   grapes;    and    then    said   he 
must  now  leave  him,  but  that  he  must 
remain,  for  he  would  receive,  in  a  short 
time,  a  visit  from  the  Lord  of  the  man- 
sion, and  that  during  the  interval  be- 
fore  his   arrival  the   apartment  would 
furnish   him  with   sufticient   entertain- 
ment and  instruction.     The  guide  van- 
ished and  he  was  left  alone.     He  began 
to  examine  the  decorations  of  the  room, 
and     observed     that    the    Avails    were 
adorned   with    a   number    of    pictures. 
Upon  nearer  inspection  he  found,  to  his 
astonishment,  that  they  formed  a  com- 
plete biography  of  his  own  life.     Here 
he    saw    upon   the  canvas   that   angels, 
though  unseen,   had  ever  been  his   fa- 
Iniliar    attendants,    and,   sent   by  God, 
they  had  sometimes  preserved  him  from 
imminent    peril.     He    beheld    himself 
first  represented  as  an  infant  just  ex- 
piring,  when    his    life   was    prolonged 
by  an  angel  breathing  into  his  nostrils. 
Most  of  the  occurrences  delineated  were 
perefcctly  familiar   to  his  recollection, 
and   unfolded    many  things   which    ho 


124 


CHEISTIAN     SIMILITUDES. 


had  never  before  understood,  and  which 
had  perplexed  him  with  many  doubts 
and  much  uneasiness. 

Among  others,  he  was  particularly 
struck  with  a  picture  in  which  he  was 
represented  as  falling  from  his  horse, 
when  death  would  have  been  inevit- 
able had  not  an  angel  received  him  in 
his  arms,  and  broken  the  force  of  his 
descent.  These  merciful  interpositions 
of  God  filled  him  with  joy  and  grat- 
itude, and  his  heart  overflowed  with 
love  as  he  surveyed  in  them  all  an  ex- 
hibition of  goodness  and  mercy  far  be- 
yond all  that  he  had  imagined.  Sud- 
denly his  attention  was  arrested  by 
a  rap  at  the  door — the  Lord  of  the 
mansion  had  arrived.  The  door  opened 
and  he  entered.  So  powerful  and  so 
overwhelming,  and  withal,  of  such 
singular  beauty  was  his  appearance, 
that  he  sunk  down  at  his  feet  com- 
jjletely  overcome  by  his  majestic  ap- 
pearance. His  Lord  gently  raised  him 
from  the  ground,  and,  taking  him  by 
the  baud,  led  him  forward  to  the  table. 


He  pressed  with  his  finger  the  juice  of 
grapes  into  the  golden  cup,  and,  after 
having  himself  drank,  presented  it  to 
him,  saying:  "This  is  the  new  wine  in 
my  Father's  kingdom."  No  sooner  had 
he  partaken  than  all  uneasy  sensation 
vanished;  perfect  love  had  cast  out 
fear,  and  he  conversed  with  his  Savior 
as  an  intimate  friend.  Like  the  silver 
rippling  of  a  summer  sea,  he  heard 
from  his  lips  the  grateful  approbation, 
"Thy  labors  are  over,  thy  work  is 
approved ;  rich  and  glorious  is  the  re- 
ward." 

Thrilled  with  an  unspeakable  bliss 
that  glided  over  his  spirit  and  slid  into 
the  very  depths  of  his  soul,  he  sud- 
denly saw  glories  upon  glories  bursting 
upon  his  view.  The  doctor  awoke. 
Tears  of  rapture  from  his  joyful  inter- 
view were  rolling  down  his  cheeks. 
Long  did  the  lively  impressions  of  his 
charming  dream  remain  upon  his  mind, 
and  never  could  he  speak  of  it  without 
emotions  of  joy  and  tenderness. 


CHRISTIAN     SIMILITUDES, 


125 


JONAH, 

Chap,  ii : 
verse  2. 


PSALM 
cxxxix : 
verse  5. 


PSALM 

xxviii : 
verse  1. 


JOB, 

Chap,  xxxiii: 
verse  28. 


COLOSSIANS 
Chap,  i : 
verse  13. 


PSALM 

XXX : 
verse  5. 


TERROR  OF  SIN— JOY  OF  SALVATION. 

Let  not  the  water-flood  overflow  me,     .     .     .     let  not  the  pit  shut 
her  mouth  upon  me.     .     .     .     And  hide  not  thy  face,     .     .     .    for 

I  am   in   trouble:  hear  me  speedily.     Fs.   lxix:   15,  17. To 

give  light  to  them  that  sit  in  darkness,  and  in  the  sliadow  of  death. 
Luke  1 :  79. 


Deep  in  the  cavern's  gloom  of  rayless  night. 
No  sovind  of  life  without,  no  gleam  of  light; 
The  watei'S  gathering  round  with  icy  chill, 
What  terrors  now  their  anxious  bosoms  fill ! 
On  every  hand  they  looked  for  aid  in  vain, 
One  voice  alone  their  sinking  souls  sustain; 
Darkness  around,  above,  below  the  wave; 


They  call  on  God,  for  God  alone  can  save. 
They  call  aloud,  they  strain  the  listening  ear, 
At  last,  far  distant,  glimmering  lights  appear; 
Deliverance  comes,  like  sunshine  through  the 

gloom, 
And  leads  them  safely  through  their  living 

tomb. 


i 


The  celebrated  Mammoth  Cave,  of 
Kentucky,  about  ninety  miles  southwest 
from  Louisville,  in  that  State,  has  long 
been  an  object  of  curiosity  to  travelers. 
It  is  said  to  extend  thirteen  miles  into 
the  bowels  of  the  earth.  It  consists  of 
a  kind  of  labj'rinth  of  passages,  mag- 
nificent chambers,  several  rivers  or 
streams,  the  largest  of  Avhich  is  about  a 
quarter  of  a  mile  in  width,  and  deep 
enough  to  float  a  large  steamboat.  This 
stream  is  about  five  miles  from  the  en- 
trance of  the  cave,  and  pursues  its  dark 


and  solitary  course,  which  the  adven- 
turous visitor  is  compelled  to  navigate 
in  a  boat. 

"On  one  occasion,"  says  a  recent 
writer,  "a  party  of  young  men,  under 
the  conduct  of  a  guide,  and  suitably  pro- 
vided with  torches,  spent  some  hours  in 
exploring  this  cavern,  and  while  moving 
over  this  subterraneous  stream  in  their 
frail  boat,  gave  a  loose  rein  to  their 
exuberant  spirits,  and  laughed  and  sung 
until  they  made  the  overhanging  arches 
echo  with  their  merriment.     In  thought- 


126 


CIlPtlSTIAK     SlillLITUDES. 


lessncssthey  rocked  the  boat  from  side 
to  side,  when  in  a  moment  it  was  cap- 
sized, and  they  were  thrown  into  the 
dark  waters.  The  boat  floated  from 
them,  their  torches  were  extinguished, 
they  were  in  impenetrable  darkness, 
and  far  from  human  aid.  Although  re- 
gaining their  feet,  they  were  submerged 
nearly  to  their  necks,  and,  alarmed 
and  chilled,  they  felt  that  their  exer- 
tions >could  avail  nothing  for  their 
rescue. 

The  guide,  with  ready  presence  of 
mind,  swam  round  them,  encouraged 
them  to  retain  their  self-jiossession,  and 
warned  them  of  the  certain  peril  of 
moving  a  single  step.  They  were  told 
that  their  onl}^  hope  was  in  remaining 
still  until  the  other  guide,  after  a  lapse 
of  hours,  might  become  alarmed  at 
their  long  absence  and  come  to  their 
rescue.  Can  imagination  picture  a  more 
frightful  scene  than  was  here  presented'/ 
Midnight  darkness  enveloped  them,  the 
c*old  waters  cliilled  their  blood,  no  cries 
for  aid  could  be  heard  by  those  without, 
they  might  have  to  wait  man}'  hours 
before  the  alarmed  fears  of  their  friends 
would  stimulate  them  to  send  help; 
their  strength  in  the  mean  time  might 
fail,  and  they  be  floated  away  on  the 
dark  river  of  death  without  leaving  a 
vestige  to  tell  their  fate!  What  could 
they  do?  Lately  gay  and  joj'ous,  how 
sad  and  terrible  their  situation  now! 
"What!  could  they  not  make  one  eff'ort 
for  their  safety?  Not  one.  They  could 
only  pray,  and  pray  they  did,  with 
deep  earnestness,  as  men  doomed  to 
death,  from  which  an  Almighty  power 
alone  could  deliver  them.  They  were 
heard  and  sustained. 

At  length,  after  a  weary  waiting, 
they  descry  a  glimmering  light,  and 
then  they  hear  the  faint  strokes  of  dis- 
tant oars.  They  almost  fear  to  trdst 
their  senses;  they  doubt,  they  fear,  but 
they  are  not  deceived;  their  deliverer 


appears;  they  are  received  into  his 
boat,  exhausted  WMth  terror  and  fatigue, 
and  soon  they  are  conveyed  to  a  place 
of  safety.  The  sudden  revulsion  of 
feeling  overpowers  them;  they  alter- 
nately weep,  and  are  transported  with 
joy ;  they  are  saved. 

Have  we  no  companion  for  this  pic- 
ture? Yes,  it  is  but  a  resemblance  of 
another  still  more  thrilling.  The  sin- 
ner, in  his  gayety  and  thoughtless- 
ness, dreams  not  of  danger  he  laughs 
with  the  merry;  ho  is  enchanted  with 
the  scenes  around  him.  Suddenly  he 
finds  himself  in  deep  waters  and  sur- 
rounded by  thick  darkness.  His  strug- 
gles to  extricate  himself  only  involve 
him  in  greater  danger.  Horror  over- 
spreads his  mind.  Each  moment  threat- 
ens to  plunge  him  into  ruin.  He  cries 
aloud,  bat  hears  only  the  frightful  echo 
of  his  own  despairing  shout.  He  feels 
his  utter  helplessness,  and,  in  his  ex- 
tremity, pours  out  his  tears  and  prayers. 

How  horrible  thus  to  perish  !  But 
no;  a  small  voice  whispers  in  his  car. 
There  is  j^et  hope  !  He  waits,  but  how 
tedious  are  the  passing  hours!  Each 
moment  seems  an  age.  He  is  ready  to 
abandon  hojie  when  a  cheering  light 
strikes  upon  his  e^^e,  and  the  voice  of 
encouragement  is  heard ;  his  heart  is 
reassured.  One  mighty  to  save  ap- 
pears, and  soon  he  is  rescued  from  the 
deep  waters.  The  light  of  a  glorious 
day  shines  upon  his  soul;  he  feels,  and 
is  transported  at  the  feeling,  that  he  is 
saved.  Sinner,  have  you  felt  no  such 
terrors?  You  have  cause  to  feel  them. 
The  danger  is  just  as  imminent  whether 
you  are  sensible  of  it  or  not ;  and  if 
you  are  not  driven  to  this  extremity 
here,  you  may  expect  to  feel  it  in  that 
world  where  there  is  no  Savior,  and 
where  all  will  be  irretrievably  lost. 
"We,  then,  as  workers  together  with 
him,  beseech  you  also  that  ye  receive 
not  the  grace  of  God  in  vain." 


CnEISTlAN     SIMILITUDES. 


127 


ZECHAEIAH, 
Chap,  i: 
verse  5. 


PSALM 

xxix: 
verse  5, 


PSALM 

xc: 
verses  5,  6. 


HEBREWS, 
Chap,  ii: 
verse  6. 


PSALM 
xc: 

verse  10. 


ACTS, 

Chap,  xii: 

verses  22,  23. 


ECCLESIAST'S, 
Chap,  i: 
verso  14. 


IIEBEEWS, 

Chap,  i : 
verses  lO- 12. 


END  OF  HUMAN  GREATNESS. 


3Ian  dieth  and  tuasteth  away, 
is  as  thejlower  of  the  grass 
the  Jlower  fadeth.     Isa.  xl; 
Eccl.  I    2. 


Job  XIV :  10. 
1  Pet.  1 :  24.- 


■The  glory  of  man 
■  The  grass  wither eth. 


8. Vanity  of  vanities,  all  is  vanity. 


Behold  the  end  of  human  greatness  now: 

Low  to  the  dust  is  laid  the  lofty  brow  1 

Of  princel}'  pride  a  skeleton  remains; 

'Tis  common  dust.      The  broken  sword  and  chains 

That  once  enslaved  mankind  have  lost  their 

power: 
Broken  the  glass  that  told  his  triumph  hour; 


The  crumbling  monuments  bespeak  decay, 
The  ruined  towers,  tlie  sun's  declining  vay; 
Shattered  the  oak  that  once  the  storm  dt-ficd. 
Scattered  the  rose-leaves  in  their  beauteous 

pride. 
Ah!  such  is  human  life  !  its  end  is  death. 
Its  glories  scattered  by  a  passing  breath. 


The  engraving  annexed  is  emblematic 
of  the  frailty  and  end  of  human  great- 
ness, and  the  vanity  of  sublunary  things. 
In  the  foreground  is  the  skeleton,  per- 
haps of  some  mighty  warrior  who  has 
been  the  terror  of  mankind,  and  has 
received  the  homage  of  nations.  He 
lies  proutrate,  and  it  would  be  difficult 


to  distinguish  his  remains  from  those  of 
a  common  beggar.  His  sword,  and  llio 
chains  bv  which  he  enslaved  mankind, 
are  broken  ;  the  hour-glass  is  also  broken, 
showing  that  time  with  him  is  no  longer. 
The  very  monuments  which  have  been 
raised  to  perpetuate  the  remembrance 
of    the    mighty    dead     are    crumbling. 


128 


CnEISTIAN     SIMILITUDES. 


Other  objects  are  seen  in  the  back- 
ground; the  splendid  palace  and  strong 
towers  are  fast  becoming  a  heap  of  rub- 
bish, the  sturdy  oak  is  shattered,  the 
beauteous  rose,  with  its  bright  leaves, 
are  scattered  on  the  ground,  the  setting 
sun  behind  the  desolate  city,  are  all  em- 
blematic of  the  vanity  and  end  of  human 
greatness. 

"Time,"  says  Dr.  Watts,  "like  along- 
flowing  stream,  makes  haste  into  eter- 
nity, and  is  forever  lost  and  swallowed 
up  there;  and  while  it  is  hastening  to  its 
period,  it  sweeps  away  all  things  which 
are  not  immortal.  There  is  a  limit  ap- 
pointed by  Providence  to  the  duration 
of  all  the  works  of  men,  with  all  the 
glories  and  excellencies  of  animal  na- 
ture, and  all  that  is  made  of  flesh  and 
blood.  Let  us  not  dote  upon  any  thing 
here  below,  for  heaven  has  inscribed 
vanity  upon  it.  The  moment  is  hasten- 
ing when  the  decree  of  heaven  shall  be 
uttered,  and  Providence  shall  pronounce 
upon  every  glory  of  the  earth.  Its  time 
shall  be  no  longer. 

"  What  is  that  stately  building,  that 
princely  palace,  which  now  entertains 
and  amuses  our  sight  with  ranks  of  mar- 
ble columns  and  wide-spreading  arches, 
that  gay  edifice  which  enriches  our  ad- 
miration with  a  thousand  royal  orna- 
ments, and  a  profusion  of  costly  and 
glittering  furniture?  Time,  and  all  its 
circling  hours,  with  a  swift  wing,  are 
brushing  it  away;  decay  steals  upon  it 
insensibl}'',  and  a  few  years  hence  it  shall 
lie  in  moldering  ruin  and  desolation. 
Unhappy  possessor,  if  he  has  no  better 
inheritance! 

"  What  have  we  mortals  to  be  proud 
of  in  our  present  state,  when  every  hu- 
man glory  is  so  fugitive  and  fading? 
Let  the  brightest  and  best  of  us  say  to 
ourselves  that  we  are.  but  di/st  and  vanity. 
Is  my  body  formed  upon  a  graceful 
model?  Are  my  limbs  and  my  com- 
plexion better  colored  than  my  neigh- 
bors? Beauty,  even  in  perfection,  is  of 
the  shortest  date;  a  few  years  will  in- 


form me  that  its  bloom  vanishes,  its 
flower  withers,  its  luster  grows  dim,  its 
duration  shall  be  no  longer;  and  if  life 
be  prolonged,  yet  the  pride  and  glory  of 
it  is  forever  lost  in  age  and  wrinkles; 
or,  perhaps,  our  vanity  meets  a  speedier 
fate.  Death  and  the  grave,  with  a  sov- 
ereign and  irresistible  command,  sum- 
mon the  brightest  as  well  as  the  coarsest 
pieces  of  human  nature  to  lie  down 
early  in  their  cold  embraces,  and  mix 
together  in  corruption. 

"Even  those  more  ennobling  powers 
of  human  life,  which  seem  to  have  some- 
thing angelical  in  them — I  mean  tho 
powers  of  mind,  imagination,  etc. — theso 
are  subject  to  the  same  laws  of  decay 
and  death.  What  though  they  can  raisia 
and  animate  beautiful  scenes  in  a  mo- 
ment,  and,  in  imitation  of  creating; 
power,  can  spi'cad  bright  appearances 
and  new  worlds  before  the  senses  and 
souls  of  their  friends;  what  though 
they  can  entertain  the  better  part  of 
mankind,  the  refined  and  polite  world, 
with  high  delight  and  rapture,  these 
scenes  of  rapturous  delight  grow  flat 
and  old  by  frequent  review,  and  the  very 
powers  that  raised  them  to  grow  feeblo 
and  apace.  What  though  they  can  give 
immortal  applause  and  fame  to  their 
possessors,  it  is  but  the  immortality 
of  an  empty  name,  a  mere  succession  of 
the  breath  of  men ;  and  it  is  a  short  sort 
of  immortality,  too,  which  must  die  and 
perish  when  this  world  perishes.  A 
poor  shadow  of  duration,  indeed,  while 
the  real  period  of  these  powers  is  hasten- 
ing every  day;  they  languish  and  die 
as  fast  as  animal  nature,  which  has  a 
large  share  in  them,  makes  haste  to  its 
decay,  and  the  time  of  their  exercise 
shall  shortl}'  be  no  more." 

"In  vain  the  aged  poet  or  the  painter 
would  call  up  the  muse  and  genius  of 
their  youth,  and  summon  all  the  arts  of 
their  imagination  to  spread  and  dress 
out  some  imaginary  scene;  in  vain  the 
elegant  orator  would  recall  the  bold  and 
masterly  figures,  and  all  those  flowery 


CHRISTIAN     SIMILITUDES. 


129 


images  which  give  ardor,  grace,  and 
dignity  to  his  younger  composers,  and 
charmed  every  ear;  they  are  gone,  they 
are  fled  beyond  the  reach  of  their 
owner's  call;  their  time  is  past;  they 
are  vanished,  and  lost  beyond  all  hope 
of  recovery." 

"Death,"  says  Saurin,  "puts  an  end 
to  the  most  specious  titles,  to  the  most 
dazzling  grandeur,  and  to  the  most  de- 
licious life.  The  thought  of  this  period 
of  human  glory  reminds  me  of  the  me- 
morable action  of  a  prince,  who,  al- 
though he  was  a  heathen,  he  was  wiser 
than  many  Christians ;  I  mean  the  great 
Saladin.  After  he  had  subdued  Egypt, 
passed  the  Euphrates,  and  conquered 
cities  without  number;  after  he  had 
retaken  Jerusalem,'  and  performed  ex- 
ploits almost  more  than  human  in  those 
wars  which  superstition  had  stirred  up 
for  the  recovery  of  the  Holy  Land,  he 
finished  his  life  in  the  performance  of  an 
action  that  ought  to  be  transmitted  to 
the  most  distant  posterity. 

"A  moment  before  he  xittcred  his  last 
sigh,  he  called  the  herald  who  had  car- 
ried his  banner  before  him  in  all  his 
battles;  he  commanded  him  to  fasten  to 
the  top  of  the  lance  the  shroud  in  which 
the  dying  prince  was  soon  to  be  buried. 
'Go,'  said  he,  'carry  the  lance,  unfurl 
the  banner;  and  while  you  lift  up  this 
standard,  proclaim,  Tin's  is  all  that  re- 
mains  to  Saladin  the  Great,  of  all  his  glory.' 
Christians,"  continues  Saurin,  "I perform 
to-day  the  office  of  this  herald ;  I  fasten  to 
the  staff  of  a  spear  sensual  and  intellect- 
ual pleasures,  worldly  riches  and  human 
honors.  All  these  I  reduce  to  the  piece 
of  crape  in  which  you  will  soon  be 
buried.  This  standard  of  earth  I  lift  up 
in  your  sight,  and  cry.  This,  this  is  all 
that  will  remain  to  you  of  the  posses- 
sions for  which  you  exchanged  your 
souls!" 

2T 


Philip,  King  of  Macedon,  as  he  was 
wrestling  at  the  Olympic  games,  fell 
down  in  the  sand;  and,  when  he  rose 
again,  seeing  the  print  of  his  body  in 
tlie  sand,  cried  out,  "  O,  how  little  a 
parcel  of  earth  will  hold  us  when  we  are 
dead,  who  are  ambitiously  seeing  after 
the  world  while  we  are  living ! " 

"Where  are  the  mighty  thunderbolts  of  war, 
The  Roman  Cagsars  and  the  Grecian  chiefs, 
The  boast  of  story  ?     Where  the  hot-brained 

youth 
Who  the  tiara,  at  his  pleasure,  tore 
From  kings  of  all  the  then  discovered  globe; 
And  cried  forsooth  because  his  arm  was 

hampered, 
And  liad  not  room  enough  to  do  his  work  ? 
Alas!  how  slim,  dishonorably  slim. 
And  crammed  into  a  space  we  blush  to  name.' 

"Where  now  is  Babylon  with  its  hun- 
dred gates  of  solid  brass,  its  hanging 
gardens,  its  walls  three  hundred  feet 
high?  Where  are  Tyre,  the  queen  city 
of  the  ocean,  and  Carthage,  with  its 
dominion  over  three  hundred  cities? 
Where  are  the  other  cities  of  antiquity 
once  so  famous  upon  earth?  What,  in- 
deed, are  these  visible  heavens,  these 
lower  skies,  and  this  globe  of  earth? 
They  are,  indeed,  the  glorious  work- 
manship of  the  Almighty,  but  they  are 
waxing  old  and  waiting  their  period,  too, 
when  the  angel  shall  pronounce  upon 
them  that  Time  shall  be  no  more  !  The 
heavens  shall  be  folded  up  as  a  vesture, 
the  elements  of  the  lower  world  shall 
melt  with  fervent  heat,  and  all  the 
works  thereof  shall  be  burnt  up  with 
fire. 

"The  cloud-capped  towers,  the  gorgeous 
palaces, 
The  solemn  temples,  the  great  globe  itself. 
Yea,  all  which  it  inhabit  siiall  dissolve, 
And,  like  the  ba.seless  fabric  of  a  vision^ 
Leaves  not  a  wreck  behind!  " 


130 


CHRISTIAN     SIMILITUDES. 


BEVELATION 

Chap.  XX : 

ver-ses  12,  13. 


PSALM 

cxlv  : 
verse  20. 


PSALM 

ix: 
verse  17. 


ACTS, 

Chap,  xxiv: 

verse  15. 


MATTHEW, 

Chap.  XXV : 

verses  31,  32. 


2  THESS. 


g=\  Chap,  i: 

verses  7-9. 


2  PETEE, 
Chap,  ii: 
verse  9. 


ISAIAH, 
Chap,  iii: 
verse  11. 


THE  FUTURE  OF  THE  WICKED. 

And  many  of  them  that  sleep  in  the  dust  of  the  earth  shall  awake^ 

some  to  shame  and,  everlasting  contepipt.     Dan.     xii:  2. And 

these  shall  go  away  into  everlasting  punishment,     llatt.  xxv :  46. 


Sre  from  their  graves  the  guilty  sinners  start, 
Wakened  to  hear  their  awful  doom — 'Depart!" 
Depart  fiom  hea>vea  and  all  the  joys  above. 
Ye  who  despise  the  calls  of  heavenly  love. 
Behold  the  Father,  now  a  Judge  become, 
Before  whose  wrath  the  guilty  soul  is  dumb; 
The  blessed  Savior  with  averted  face, 


OfFei-s  no  more  his  mercy  and  his  grace; 
Back  to  their  graves  the  wicked  fain  would  fly 
Nor  dare  to  meet  the  Judge's  angry  eye. 
Lost!  lost  forever!  all  the  joys  of  heaven 
Reserved  for  those  whose  sins  are  forgiven; 
Down  to  the  land  of  black  de.«pair  they  go. 
To  dwell  with  spirits  lost  in  realms  of  woe. 


The  final  Judge  of  all,  sittina;  on  the 
throne  of  judgment,  will  gather  before 
him  both  the  righteous  and  the  wicked, 
the  small  and  the  great  of  all  nations, 
to  receive  according  to  the  works  done 
in  this  life.     At  the  voice  of  the  last 


trumpet,  it  is  declared  by  Him  who 
can  not  lie,  the  dead  shall  be  raised: 
"They  that  have  done  good  unto  the 
resurrection  of  life,  they  that  have 
done  evil  unto  the  resurrection  of 
damnation." 


CHRISTIAN    SIMILITUDES. 


131 


The  wicked  rise  from  their  graves. 
Terror-struck  at  the  sight  of  their  Judge, 
whose  face  is  against  them,  they  call 
on  rocks  and  mountains  to  hide  them 
from  his  presence.  Instead  of  seeing 
the  bow  of  promise  in  the  clouds,  they 
see  one  of  condemnation;  instead  of 
being  light  and  brilliant,  it  is  one  of 
darkness,  on  which  the  doom  of  the 
wicked  is  set  forth  by  the  declaration, 
"The  wicked  shall  be  turned  into  hell, 
and  all  the  nations  that  forget  God." 
Instead  of  ministering  angels  as  a  con- 
voy to  heaven  above,  one  appeal's  with 
a  flaming  sword,  driving  them  to  the 
dark  regions  below. 

That  there  is  a  place  of  punishment 
for  the  wicked  after  death,  has  been 
acknowledged  in  all  ages,  among  all 
countries  and  nations.  Heathens,  and 
even  savages,  have,  in  their  religious 
creed,  a  place  of  torment  for  the  wicked. 
This  important  truth  seems  to  be  pos- 
itively set  forth  in  many  places  on  the 
])ages  of  Divine  Revelation.  In  the 
atccount  given  us  of  Dives  and  Lazarus, 
it  is  stated  that  the  rich  man  died  and 
was  buried,  and  in  hell  he  lifted  up  his 
oyes,  being  in  torment.  In  whatever 
light  this  account  is  taken,  the  great 
truth  of  future  punishment  after  death 
can  not  be  successfully  controverted. 
Even  if  viewed  in  the  light  of  a  para- 
ble, as  some  few  contend,  it  conveys 
the  same  truth  as  if  it  was  a  real  his- 
tory. Either  a  man  may  live,  as  is 
here  related,  and  go  to  perdition  when 
he  dies;  or  some  have  lived  in  this 
way,  and  have  suffered  in  the  manner 
here  described. 

"The  general  consideration  of  a  future 
state  of  punishment,"  says  Bishop  But- 
ler, in  his  Analogy  of  Jidigion,  most  ev- 
idently belongs  to  the  subject  of  natural 
religion.  .  .  .  The  reader  is  desired 
to  observe  that  Gentile  writers,  both 
moralists  and  poets,  speak  of  the  future 
punishment  of  the  Avicked,  both  as  to 
the  duration  and  degree  of  it,  in  a  like 
manner  of  expression  as  the  Scriptures 


do;  so  that  all  which  can  positively  be 
asserted  to  be  a  matter  of  mere  rev- 
elation, with  regard  to  this  doctrine, 
seems  to  be  that  the  great  distinction 
between  the  righteous  shall  be  made 
at  the  end  of  this  world;  that  each 
shall  THEN  receive  according  to  his 
deserts.  .  .  .  Hevolation  teaches  us 
that  the  next  state  of  things  after  the 
present  is  appointed  for  the  execution 
of  this  justice,  that  it  shall  be  no 
longer  delayed;  but  the  mystery  of 
God,  the  great  mystery  of  his  suffering, 
vice  and  confusion  to  prevail,  shall  then 
be  finished;  and  he  will  take  to  him  his 
great  power,  and  will  reign  by  render- 
ing to  every  one  according  to  his 
works." 

It  is  stated  that  in  the  future  pun- 
ishment of  the  wicked,  "their  worm 
dieth  not  and  the  fire  is  not  quenched." 
''The  first  thing  intended  by  the  ex- 
pression worm  that  never  dieth,"  says 
an  able  writer,  "seems  to  be  a  guilty 
conscience,  including  self-condemnation, 
sorrow,  shame,  and  remorse.  May  we 
not  have  some  conception  of  this  by 
what  is  sometimes  felt,  even  in  this 
present  world?  Is  it  not  this,  chiefly, 
of  which  Solomon  speaks,  when  he  says, 
'The  8])irit  of  a  man  may  bear  his  in- 
firmities, but  a  wounded  spirit  who 
can  bear?'  Who  can  bear  the  anguish 
of  an  awakened  conscience  penetrated 
with  the  sense  of  guilt,  and  the  arrows 
of  the  Almighty  sticking  in  the  soni 
and  drinking  up  the  spirit?  liow 
many  of  the  stout-hearted  have  sunk 
under  it,  and  chosen  strangling  rather 
than  life!" 

On  the  dread  subject  of  the  state  of 
the  wicked  after  death,  much  has  been 
said  and  written  Avhich  is  unauthor- 
ized by  Scripture.  The  precise  mean- 
ing of  the  terms  used  in  regard  to 
the  duration  of  the  punishment  6f  the 
wicked  has  not  yet  been  finally  .set- 
tled among  thinking  minds.  It,  how- 
ever, appears  to  bo  clearly  revealed 
that  at  the  Day  of  Judgment  there  is 


132 


CHEISTIAN    SIMILITUDES. 


to  be  a  separation  made  between  the 
rigbteous  and  the  wicked.  Between 
these  classes  there  can  be  no  real  affin- 
ity. The  one  loved  God  in  sincerity, 
labored  after  a  conformity  to  him,  and 
endeavored  to  keep  his  commandments; 
the  other  preferred  a  life  of  sin  to  that 
of  holiness.  As  they  were  at  their 
death,  so  will  they  continue  to  be,  as 
is  declared  in  Eev.  xxii :  11:  "He  that 
is  unjust,  let  him  be  unjust  still:  and 
he  that  is  filthy,  let  him  be  filthy  still : 
and  he  that  is  righteous,  let  him  be 
righteous  still:  and  he  that  is  holy,  let 
him  be  holy  still." 

Much  of  Bible  instruction  is  con- 
veyed in  parables  and  in  figurative 
language.  When  these  are  used  in  de- 
scribing the  state  of  the  wicked  after 
death,  they  denote  a  fearful  punishment. 
"What  is  its  precise  nature  or  amount 
we  can  not  tell,  but  it  is  sufficient  for 
us  to  know  that  we  are  constantly 
warned  and  entreated  to  flee  from  the 
doom  which  awaits  the  ungodly.  We 
may,  perhaps,  think  that  God  is  such 
a  merciful  being  that  he  will  not  ptmish 
the  wicked  in  the  future  state;  but  we 
must  remember  that  justice,  as  well  as 
mercy,  is  one  of  the  divine  attributes. 
We  believe  that  God  is  a  being  of  infi- 
nite goodness,  mercy,  and  love.  The 
existence  of  sin  in  our  world  is  a  mys- 
tery to  us,  but  we  see  it  with  its  at- 
tendant miseries  in  various  forms 
around  us.  If  such  things  can  exist  in 
consistency  with  hisgoodness  and  mercy 
now,  why  not  hereafter? 


The  moment  the  soul  leaves  the 
body  it  passes  into  another  state  of 
existence,  either  of  happiness  or  of 
misery.  The  dying  thief,  when  about 
expiring  on  the  cross,  prayed  our  Lord 
to  remember  him  when  he  came  into 
his  kingdom.  In  answer  to  his  re- 
quest, he  received  the  blessed  assurance 
that  he  would  that  very  day  be  with 
him  in  paradise. 

On  the  other  hand,  those  who  die  in 
impenitence  and  unbelief  can  not  come 
where  Christ  is.  It  is  true  we  can  not 
describe  the  mode  of  the  existence  of 
the  soul  separated  from  the  body,  but 
that  we  can  so  exist  we  have  demon- 
stration in  the  fact  that  when  we  are 
asleep  we  see,  hear,  and  act  without 
the  aid  of  our  eyes,  ears,  and  limbs. 

According  to  the  testimony  of  the 
Scriptures,  it  appears  that  the  wicked 
are  reserved  in  chains  unto  the  judgment 
of  the  great  day,  the  time  of  the  final 
judgment,  when  angels  and  men  shall 
receive  their  eternal  doom.  There  will, 
at  the  last  day,  be  a  resurrection  of  the 
bodies  both  of  the  just  and  unjust;  the 
Judge  will  say  to  the  wicked,  "Depart 
from  me,  ye  cursed,  into  everlasting 
fire,  prepared  for  the  devil  and  his 
angels."  The  devil  and  his  angels 
sinned  before  the  creation  of  the  world; 
and  as  the  wicked  are  partakers  with 
the  devil  and  his  angels  in  their  re- 
bellion against  God,  so  it  is  right  that 
they  should  be  sharers  with  them  in 
their  punishment. 


CHEISTIAX     SIMILITUDES, 


133 


ISAIAH, 

Chap,  iii: 
verse  10. 


MATTHEW, 
Chap.  XXV : 
verse  46.  / 


EOMANS, 
Chap,  ii : 
verse  7. 


EEVELATION, 

Chap,  xxi : 
verse  4. 


EEVELATIOX, 

Chap,  vii: 
verses  16,  17. 


MATTHEW, 

Chap.  XXV : 

verse  34. 


JOHI^, 

Chap,  xvii: 

verse  24. 


PSALM 

xvi: 
verse  11. 


THE  FUTURE  OF  THE  RIGHTEOUS. 

All  that  are  in  their  graves  shall  hear  his  voice;  they  that  have  done 

good  unto  the  resurrection  of  life.     John  v :  29. And  so  shall 

we  ever  be  with  the  Lord.     1  Thess.  iv:  17. 

Bright  Future!  opening  to  the  good  man's  eyes,  I  'While  from  the  skies  the  angel  floating  down, 


The  bow  of  promise  spans  the  glorious  skies, 
In  snowy  robes  arrayed,  the  shining  throngs 
Of  earth's  redeemed,  fill  heaven  with  joyful  songs. 


Displays  before  his  eyes  the  starry  crown, 

And  glittering  legions  from  heaven's  high  dome, 

Swell  forth  the  joyful  summons,  welcome  home  1 


The  final  Judge  of  all  men  is  repre- 
sented in  the  Scriptures  as  coming  in  the 
clouds  of  heaven,  attended  by  angelic 
hosts.  When  seated  on  the  throne  of 
his  glory,  all  nations  shall  be  gathered 
before  him.  The  bow  seen  in  the  cloud 
shows  that  the  Almighty  is  a  covenant- 
keeping  God,  and  will  surely  fulfill  all 


his  promises.  The  righteous  dead,  burst- 
ing their  tombs,  will  arise  with  joy  at 
the  summons  of  the  last  trumpet.  Clad 
in  celestial  robes,  they  ascend  on  high  ; 
the  ministering  angel  displays  the  crown 
of  immortality,  the  sure  inheritance  of 
every  believer. 

The  existence  of  the  righteous  and  the 


134 


CIIEISTIAN     SIMILITUDES. 


wicked,  in  a  future  state,  has  been,  by 
Divine  Eevelation,  placed  beyond  all 
doubt.  God  hath  promised  eternal  life 
to  the  righteous.  Heaven  is  to  be  con- 
sidered as  a  place  as  well  as  state,  in 
accordance  to  what  is  stated  in  John 
xiv:  2:  "In  my  Father's  house  are 
many  mansions;  if  it  were  not  so,  I 
would  have  told  you.  I  go  to  prepare 
a  place  for  you."  The  existence  of  the 
body  of  Christ,  and  those  of  Enoch  and 
Elijah,  is  a  further  proof  of  it.  For  if 
it  be  not  a  place,  where  can  these  bodies 
be?  and  where  will  the  bodies  of  the 
saints  exist  after  the  resurrection  ?  Some 
suppose  that  this  earth,  after  it  is  refined 
and  purified,  will  be  the  dwelling-place 
of  the  righteous.  "The  new  heavens 
and  the  new  earth,  wherein  dwelleth 
righteousness,"  is  thought  will  corre- 
spond with  the  Garden  of  Eden,  as  it 
first  came  from  the  hands  of  the  Creator. 
Heaven,  wherever  located,  will  be  a 
place  of  inexpressible  felicity.  It  is 
called  "a  paradise,"  a  "building  and 
mansion  of  God,"  "a  city,  a  better  coun- 
try," "an  inheritance,  a  kingdom,  a 
crown."  It  is  described  as  a  place,  or 
state  of  rest,  peace,  "joy  in  the  Lord, 
glory,"  etc.  The  felicity  of  heaven  will 
consist  in  freedom  from  all  evil,  both  of 
soul  and  body,  in  the  enjoyment  of  God 
as  the  chief  good,  in  company  of  angels 
and  saints,  and  in  perfect  holiness.  In 
this  prospect,  the  Christian  exclaims, 

"0  glorious  hour!  0  blest  abode! 
I  shall  be  near  and  like  my  God !  , 
And  flesli  and  sin  no  more  control 
The  sacred  pleasures  of  the  soul.' 

A  question  is  sometimes  proposed, 
"Will  the  righteous  know  each  other  in 
heaven?"  The  arguments  generally 
brought  forward  to  sustain  the  fact  that 
it  will  be  so,  are. taken  from  the  in- 
stances recorded  in  Scripture,  in  which 
persons  who  have  never  seen  one  aiaother 
before,  have  immediately  known  each 
other  in  this  world  by  a  divine  revela- 
tion.    We  read  that  at  the  transfigura- 


tion of  our  Lord,  Peter,  James,  and  John 
knew  Moses  and  Ellas,  as  appears  from 
Peter's  making  a  particular  mention  of 
them — "  Let  us  make  three  tabernacles ; 
one  for  thee,  one  for  Moses,  and  one  for 
Ellas !  " — though  he  had  never  seen  them 
before. 

Our  Savior,  in  the  parable,  represents 
the  rich  man  as  seeing  Abraham  afar  off, 
and  Lazarus  in  his  bosom,  and  speaks  of 
him  as  addressing  his  discourse  to  him. 
Paul  says,  "What  is  our  hope  or  joy, 
or  crown  of  rejoicing?  Are  not  even  ye 
in  the  presence  of  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ  at 
his  coming?  for  ye  are  our  glory  and  joy." 

The  change  to  be  made  in  the  bodies  of  the 
righteous  will  consist  cliiefly  in  three  tilings: 

I.  The  body  shall  be  uaised  immortal  and  incor- 
rvplible. 

II.  It  will  be  raised  in  glory. 

III.  It  will  be  raised  in  itower. 

1.  When  this  corruptible  shall  put  on  incor- 
ruption,  we  shall  not  be  subject  to  sickness  or 
pain;  "the  redemption  of  our  bodies,"  signifies 
that  we  shall  be  perfectly  free  from  all  bodily 
evils  which  sin  has  brought  into  the  world. 

2.  Our  bodies  shall  be  raised  in  glory,  for  it  is 
said,  "Then  shall  the  righteous  shine  as  the  sun 
in  the  kingdom  of  their  Fatlier."  A  resemblance 
of  this  we  have  in  the  luster  of  Moses'  face, 
when  he  had  conversed  with  God  on  the  mount. 
AVhen  the  martyr  Steplien  was  before  the  council 
at  Jerusalem,  they  "  saw  his  face  as  it  had  been 
the  face  of  an  angel. '  When  Peter  and  his  com- 
panions saw  our  Lord's  face  on  the  Mount  of 
Transfiguration,  it  shone  like  the  sun,  and  his 
raiment  became  white  as  snow.  Peter  was  trans- 
ported with  joy  and  admiration.  The  unspeak- 
able joy  that  we  shall  then  feel  will  shine  forth 
in  our  countenances. 

3.  The  bodies  of  the  righteous  "shall  be  raised 
in  power."  This  expresses  the  sprightliness  of 
our  heavenly  bodies,  the  nimbleness  of  their  mo- 
tion, by  which  they  shall  be  obedient  and  able 
instruments  of  the  soul.  I'his  earthly  body  is 
slow  and  heavy  in  all  its  motions,  listless,  and 
soon  tired  with  action.  But  our  heavenly  bodies 
will  be  as  active  and  nimble  as  our  thoughts 
are.  Our  bodies  being  spiritual  will  serve  our 
spirits,  and  minister  to  them;  whereas  now  our 
spirits  are  forced  to  serve  our  bodies,  and  attend 
to  their  leisure,  and  do  greatly  depend  upon  them 
for  our  actions.  When  the  righteous  enter  the 
glorious  future,  their  bodies  will  be  purified  and 
refined  from  earthly  grossjiess,  and  every  power 
find  sweet  employ,  while  ceaseless  ages  roll ! 


CHRISTIAN     SIMILITUDES. 


135 


THE    HERMIT; 

OK 

THE   WAYS    OF    PROVIDENCE   JUSTIFIED. 

[Somewhat  varied  from  "The  Hermit,'''  oy  Parnell.] 


"Far  in  a  wild,  iinkno'wn  to  public  view, 
From  youth  to  age  a  reverend  hermit  grew; 
The  moss  his  bed,  the  cave  his  humble  cell, 


His  food  the  fruits,  his  drink  the  crystal  well 
Remote  from  man.  with  God  he  passed  his  dnys, 
Prayer  all  his  business,  all  his  pleasure  praise.'' 


In  a  far  distant  country,  and  at  a  re- 
mote period  of  time,  there  retired  from 
the  busy  scenes  of  the  world  a  young 
man,  who  spent  the  remainder  of  his 
days  as  a  hermit.  Having,  in  the 
morning  of  life,  met  with  severe  af- 
fliction from  the  hands  of  his  fellow- 
men,  he  resolved  to  have  no  more  fellow- 
ship with  them,  but  to  seek  his  happiness 
in  the  performance  of  religious  duties. 
For  this  purpose  he  retired  to  a  kind 
of  cave  in  a  mountainous  part  of  the 
country,  which,  with  a  little  labor,  he 
converted  into  a  comfortable  habitation. 
A  sparkling  rill  fell  near  the  door  of 
his  cot  from  the  rocky  heights  above, 
and  gave  him  an  ample  supply  of  pure 


and  cold  water.  A  small  but  beautiful 
plat  of  ground  lay  directly  in  front, 
which,  by  cultivation,  afforded  him 
abundance  of  food;  a  small  flock,  of 
which  he  was  a  kind  shepherd,  supplied 
him  with  clothing. 

A  life  thus  spent  gave  a  calm,  se- 
rene, and  heavenly  repose,  which  would, 
probably,  have  cvon tinned,  but  for  the 
accidental  visit  of  a  traveler,  who  gave 
him  an  account  of  the  state  of  the 
world,  and.  in  particular,  how  wicked- 
ness prevailed,  how  vile  men  apparently 
prospered,  and,  also,  how  the  cause  of 
righteousness  was  trampled  down  in 
the  earth,  and  how  aften  good  men 
suflFercd  from  the  violence  and  persecu. 


136 


CHEISriAN    SIMILITUDES. 


tion  of  the  wicked.  The  hermit  was 
astonished,  and  hardly  knew  what  to 
tliink.  Doubts  sj^rung  up  in  his  mind 
whether  a  Divine  Providence'did  really 
govern  the  world  or  not.  He  was  dis- 
turbed; the  even  tenor  of  his  soul  was 
lost,  and  he  felt  unhappy. 

"  So  when  a  smooth  expanse  receives  impressed 
Calm  nature's  image  on  its  watery  breast, 
Down  bend  the  banks,  the  trees  impending 

grow,  _     - 

And  skies  beneath  with  answering  colors  glow. 
But  if  a  stone  the  gentle  sea  divide,    . 
8wift  ruffling  circles  curl  on  every  side; 
And  glimmering  fragments  of  a  broken  sun  ; 
Banks,  trees,  and  skies  in  thick  disorder  run." 

To  clear  his  doubts  on  this  perplex- 
ing subject,  the  hermit  resolved  to 
travel  and  see  for  himself  if  the  world 
was  so  badly  governed  as  had  been 
represented.  He,  accordingly,  com- 
menced his  jouimey  with  the  rising 
sun,  and  passed  through  long  and  lone- 
some wilds  before  he  approached  the 
habitations  of  men.  As  the  sun  ap- 
proached midway  of  the  heavens, 

"A  youth  came  posting  o'er  a  crossing  way, 
His  raiment  decent,  his  complexion  fair. 
And  soft,  in  graceful  ringlets,  fell  his  hair; 
Then,  near  approachmg.   Father,  hail!   he 

cried ; 
And  hail,  my  son  !  the  reverend  sire  replied  ; 
Words  followed  words,  from  question  answer 

flowed, 
And  talk  of  various  kinds  deceived  the  road ; 
Till  each  with  other  pleased,  and  loath  to  part, 
While  in  their  age  they  differ,  joined  In  heart; 
Thus  stands  an  aged  elm  in  iv^y  bound, 
Thus  youthful  ivy  clasps  an  elm  around." 

The  two  travelers  were  so  much 
pleased  with  each  other  that  they  de- 
termined to  continue  their  journey  to- 
gether. The  youth  appeared  to  possess 
knowledge  far  beyond  his  years.  The 
hermit,  being  very  desirous  to  know 
the  reason  or  cause  of  every  thing  he 
eaw  about  him,  continually  kept  asking 
questions.     His  companion  finally  told 


him,  if  he  would  keep  silent  on  thia 
particular  subject,  he  would  explain 
all  things  to  his  satisfaction  when  they 
arrived  at  the  end  of  their  journey. 

The  hermit  and  his  companion  passed 
pleasantly  along  till  the  closing  hour 
of  day,  and  when  the  busy  world  was 
sinking  into  repose  they  drew  near 
a  stately  palace.  By  the  .light  of 
the  moon  they  traversed  the  pathway 
adorned  with  shrubbery  and  flowers; 
tall  and  graceful  trees  stood  in  ranks 
around.  The  master  of  the  mansion 
made  his  house  the  wandering  stranger's 
home;  yet  his  kindness  arose,  in  some 
degree  at  least,  from  a  thirst  of  human 
applause.  When  the  pair  arrived  at 
the  gate  they  found  attentive  servants, 
with  their  lord  in  attendance,  waiting 
to  receive  them.  They  were  conducted 
to  a  table  loaded  with  rich  and  costly 
food,  and  pressed  to  partake  of  the 
various  delicacies.  When  the  hour  of 
rest  arrived,  they  were  conducted  to 
the  elegant  eastern  chambers  of  the 
mansion,  where  they  sunk  to  repose  on 
beds  of- down,  beneath  a  silken  canopy. 

In  the  morning,  before  their  de- 
parture, a  rich  banquet  was  provided 
for  them  ;  and,  among  other  things,  the 
master  of  the  house  Drought  rich,  lus- 
cious wine  in  a  golden  goblet,  of  which 
he  pressed  his  guests  to  partake.  When 
they  left  the  hospitable  mansion,  the 
younger  guest  secretly  took  the  golden 
cup  and  hid  it  in  the  folds  of  his  vest- 
ure. After  they  had  proceded  some 
distance  on  their  journey,  the  youth 
drew  from  the  place  of  its  concealment 
the  golden  goblet  which  had  been  so 
conspicuously  displayed  at  the  hos- 
pitable mansion-house.  The  hermitwas 
confounded  at  the  conduct  of  his  com. 
panion. 

The  travelers  passed  on  till  near  the 
close  of  day,  when  the  sun  became 
shrouded  with  black  clouds,  and  the 
deep  thunder  rolled  in  the  distance. 
It  came  nearer;  the  wind  roared,  the 
rain    descended,   the   forked   lightning 


CllKISTIAN     SIMILITUDES, 


137 


flashed  around,  and  the  thunder  bo-  j  p-ound,  to  which  they  fled  for  shelter. 
came  loud  and  terrible.  A  turretcd,  The  building  was  large  and  strong,  and 
castle-like  building  was  seen  on  rising    the   extensive   grounds   about   it   were 


["  As  one  who  spies  a  serpent  in  his  way, 
GHstening  and  basking  in  the  summer  ray. 
Disordered,  stops,  to  shun  the  danger  near, 
Then  walks  with  faintness  on,  and  looks 

with  fear;  [heart: 

So  seemed  the  sire,  he  walked  with  trembling 


And  much  he  wished,  but  durst  not  ask  to 
part; 

Murmuring,  he  lifts  his  eyes,  and  thinks  it 
hard, 

That  generous   actions    meet   a   base    re- 
ward."] 


unimproved.  The  owners  of  this  hab- 
itation were,  in  temper,  timorous  and 
severe.  They  were  considered  unkind 
and  griping,  and  every  thing  about 
their  premises  appeared  desert-like  and 
forbidding.  Driven  by  the  wind,  and 
drenched  by  the  rain,  they  arrived  at 
the  miser's  door  and  knocked  for  ad- 
mittance. For  a  long  time  it  was  in 
vain. 

At  length  some  pity  seemed  to  move 
^he  miser's  breast.  It  was  the  first 
time  that  his  house  had  ever  received 
a  guest.  Slowly  he  turned  the  creak- 
ing door  with  jealous  care,  and  he  half 
welcomes  the  suffering  pair.  With  a 
few  fagot  sticks  he  lights  the  naked 
v/alls  by  which  the  travelers  are  able 
only  to  partially  dry  their  clothing. 
A  small  quantity  of  the  coarsest  bread, 
and  wine   of  the  poorest   quality,  was 


set  before  them;  each,  hardly  granted, 
served  them  both  for  a  meal.  As  soon 
as  the  tempest  had  ceased,  and  suf- 
ficient light  had  appeared,  so  that  they 
could  discern  their  pathway,  they  re- 
ceived an  intimation  to  depart  in  peace. 

As  they  parted  from  their  miserly 
host,  the  youth  drew  from  his  vest 
and  presented  him  with  the  golden 
cup  he  ha<l  taken  from  the  generous 
landlord  who  had  entertained  them  in 
so  princely  a  manner.  The  miser  re- 
ceived the  glittering  gift  with  startled 
eyes,  and  Avas  so  overwhelmed  at  the 
princely  reward  for  his  stinted  kind- 
ness, that  he  sunk  to  the  earth  in  sur- 
prise, and  before  he  could  sufficiently 
recover  himself  to  thank  his  generous 
guests,  they  had  traveled  out  of  his 
sight  and  hearing. 

The  dark  clouds  were  soon  scattered, 


138 


CHEISTIAN     SI]\IILITUDES 


the  blue  sky  appeared,  and  the  sun 
shone  forth  in  splendor  and  beauty. 
The  fragrant  leaves  displayed  a  fresher 
green,  and  all  nature  rejoiced  in  the 
light  of  the  sun.  The  travelers  con- 
tinued their  journey.  The  hermit's 
mind  labored  Avith  uncertain  thought. 
No  cause  appeared  for  his  companion's 
acts.  To  steal  a  cup  from  a  generous 
man  and  give  it  to  a  miserly  creature 
who  would  scarcely  admit  them  within 
his  gate.  One  act  seemed  a  vice,  the 
other  appeared  like  madness,  ^yhile 
he, detested  the  one  he  pitied  the  other. 
In  the  contemplation  of  both,  his  mind 
became  lost,  confused,  and  confounded. 


Night  again  overtook  the  travelers, 
and  again  the}^  sought  a  shelter.  They 
soon  found  a  mansion,  neat  and  com- 
fortable in  appearance,  "neither  poorly 
low  nor  idly  great."  The  soil  was  well 
improved  around  it,  and  every  thing 
seemed  to  show  the  turn  of  its  master's 
mind,  of  contentment,  industry,  and 
virtue.  The  weary  travelers  arriving 
at  the  mansion,  greeted  its  master,  and 
modestly  asked  for  food  and  shelter. 
lie  received  them  courteously,  and, 
without  vanity,  ostentation  or  grudg- 
ing, he  welcomed  them  to  his  house, 
piously  remarking  that  as  all  he  pos- 
sessed was  given  ■  him  by  Grod,  he  was 


"Hia  vouthful  face  grew  more  serenely  sweet; 
Hib  robe  turned  white  and  flowed  about  his 

feet ; 
And  wings  whose  colors  glittered  like  the  day 
Wide  at  his  back  the  dazzHng  plumes  display. 
The  form  ethereal  bursts  upon  his  sight, 


And  moves  in  all  the  majesty  of  light; 
Surprise  in   chains   the   Pilgrim's  words  sus- 
pends, 
And  in  a  calm  his  settling  temper  ends  ; 
But  silence  here  the  beauteous  angel  broke; 
The  voice  of  music  ravished  as  he  spoke." 


Tinder  obligation,  and  felt  willing  to 
bestow  a  portion  in  acts  of  hospitality, 
charity,  and  mercy.  A  table  of  sub- 
stantial and  nutritious  •  food  was  set 
before  them,  and  they  were  bid  wel- 
come to  whatever  the  house  afforded. 
The  evening  was  spent  in  religious 
and    profitable    conversation,   and,   be- 


fore retiring  to  rest,  the  whole  house- 
hold called  together,  and  the  day  and 
evening  closed  by  prayer  and  praise. 
Refreshed  by  calm  repose,  the  two 
travelers  arose,  invigorated,  to  pursue 
their  journey.  But  before  they  left  the 
hospitable  mansion  of  the  good  man, 
the    youth,    the    younger    guest,    in    a 


CHRISTIAN     SIMILITUDES. 


139 


stealthy  manner  crept  up  to  the  cradle, 
where  the  darling  and  only  son  lay 
sleeping.  Grasping  the  neck  of  the 
landlord's  little  pride  it  was  strangled ; 
it  grew  black  in  the  face,  gasped  and 
died.  Struck  dumb  with  horror  at  the 
deed,  the  hermit  at  once  attempted  to 
fly  from  the  presence  of  one  whose 
actions  appeared  to  be  those  of  an  in- 
fernal demon.  The  hermit  fled,  trem- 
bling, but  could  make  but  little  speed, 
being  overwhelmed  at  the  scene  he  had 
witnessed. 

The  youth  pursued  his  steps;  the 
road  through  the  country  which  they 
had  to  pass  being  diflicult  to  find,  the 
good  man  at  whose  house  they  had  last 
lodged,  sent  his  seiwant  for  a  guide. 
A  river  crossed  the  j^ath  ;  large  trees 
had  been  felled  across  it,  which  served 
for  a  bridge.  The  youth,  who  followed 
the  guide  close  behind,  seemingly  in- 
tent on  mischief,  watching  his  oppor- 
tiinit}',  thrust  him  off  the  perilous 
bridge  into  the  stream  below,  where  he 
perished  amid  the  deep  waters.  When 
the  hermit  saw  this  last  act  of  his 
companion,  he  could  hold  his  peace  no 
longer.  Swelling  with  rage,  he  cried 
out,  ^'Detested  wrdc.hr'  He  had  scarcely 
pronounced  these  words  when  his  strange 
jjartner  seemed  no  longer  man. 

"Know,"  said  the  angel  to  the  hermit, 
"I  was  sent  to  enlighten  thy  mind. 
Thy  prayers  and  praise,  and  thy  vir- 
tuous life,  have  arisen  as  a  sweet  memo*- 
rial  before  the  throne  of  the  Eternal. 
I  am  but  thy  fellow-servant,  com- 
missioned to  remove  doubts  which 
arise  in  thy  mind  when  contemplating 
the  goodness  or  equity  of  the  Divine 
Government.  The  Maker  of  all  things 
justly  claims  the  world  that  he  has 
made.  He  has  the  right  to  govern  it 
according  to  his  own  will.  He  uses 
second  means  to  accomplish  his  pur- 
poses, and  sometimes  appoints  wicked 
and  abandoned  wretches  to  bo  his  instru- 


ments of  justice  upon  others,  though 
unjDerceived  by  mortal  eyes.  While 
men  are  accomplishing  their  own  devices, 
God  is  overruling  all  things  to  bring 
about  his  sovereign  purposes. 

"True,"  said  the  angel  still  addressing 
himself  to  the  hermit,  "thou  hast  seen 
many  strange  things-  since  we  have 
been  together; 

Yet,  tauglit  by  these,  confess   the  Almighty 

just. 
And   where   thou   can't   unriddle,   learn    to 

trust. 

The  rich  man  in  the  palace  where 
we  staid  the  first  night,  who  made  his 
guests  drink  large  draughts  of  wine  in 
his  golden  cup,  has,  by  having  it  stolen, 
given  up  that  bad  custom.  I  gave  the 
cup  to  the  miser,  to  teach  him  that 
heaven  can  reward  a  genei'ous  action. 
The  pious  man,  whose  child  I  strangled, 
had  long  trod  in  virtue's  path,  but 
now  the  child  began  to  wean  his  heart 
from  God.  To  save  the  fiither  the  son 
Avas  taken.  To  all  but  us  the  child 
seemed  to  die  in  fits,  but  I  was  sent 
to  take  its  life.  The  guide  whom  I 
drowned,  had  he  returned  to  the  pious 
man,  his  master,  would  have  that  very 
night  robbed  and  murdered  him,  and 
then  how  many  poor  and  distressed 
persons  would  have  suffered  for  the 
want  of  his  charitable  donations. 

Thus  heaven  instructs  thy  mind;  this  trial 

o'er. 
Depart  in  peace,  resign  and  sin  no  more." 

On  sounding  pinions   here   the  youth  with- 
drew ; 
The  sage  stood  wondering  as  the  seraph  flew. 
Thus  looked  EHslia  when  to  mount  on  high, 
His  master  took  the  chariot  of  the  sky; 
The  fiery  pomp  ascending  left  the  view, 
The  prophet  gazed  and  wislied  to  follow  too. 
The  bending  hermit  here  a  prayer  begun, 
"Lord!  as  in  heaven,  on  earth  tliy  will  be  done;" 
Then,  gladly  turning,  sought  liis  ancient  place, 
And  passed  a  life  of  piety  and  peace. 


THE 


STJNDA.Y    BOOK 


OF 


Pleasing  and  Comforting  Literature, 


FROM  THE  BEST  WRITERS. 


By    HENRY    HO^VE, 

AtTTHOB  OF  HIST.  COLS.  OF  OHIO,  COLS.  OF  VIRGINIA,  THE  GUKAT  WEST,  ETC.,  ETC. 


BRADLEY,  GARRETSON   &   CO., 

PHILADELPHIA,     No.   66     NORTH     FOURTH     STREET, 

WILLIAM  GARRETSON  &  CO., 

OALESBURG,  ILL.,  COLUMBUS,  OHIO,  NASHVILLE,  TENN.,  HOUSTON,  TEXAS, 

SAN  FRANCISCO,  CAL. 
1875. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  mdccclxvi. 

By  F    a.  HOWE, 

In  tht  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  tue  United  States,  for  the  Southern  District  of  Ohio. 


SUNDAY    BOOK. 


INTRODUCTORY. 


Herein  we  have,  according  to  our  judgment,  a  collection  adapted  to  t"hc  wants 
and  tastes  of  that  large  class  whose  property  in  books  is  restricted  to  such  very 
narrow  limits,  that,  in  many  eases,  to  possess  the  acquaintance  of  even  a  single 
bookseller,  would  require  the  formality  of  a  personal  introduction.  The  book- 
Beller  is,  in  truth,  the  last  man  who  emigrates — the  last  to  be  established  in  a 
Dew  community. 

Among  humble  people  are  delicate,  sensitive  spirits,  exquisitel}'  organized, 
gifted  in  mental  powers,  beautiful  in  moral  qualities,  but  denied  the  benefits  and 
delights  of  congenial,  social  intercourse.  This  arises  from  their  personal  isola- 
tion, or  from  the  conventionalities  of  our  even,  as  jot,  imperfectly  developed  con- 
dition, which  gives  a  false  estimate  to  station,  family,  and  material  acquisitions, 
while  the  Christ-prespnted  view  of  the  value  of  the  human  soul,  as  the  greatest 
of  all  created  things,  is  only  just  beginning  to  be  discerned.  Thanks  for  this  to 
(Jhristian  Literature;  for  it  is  the  great  leveler  and  the  great  elevator— a  demo- 
crat and  a  more  than  king.  Through  it  all  alike  have  the  best  expressed  ideaa 
of  the  finest  minds,  the  utterances  of  the  noblest  souls  that  away  in  the  ]iast  ages 
towered  above  the  forgotten  myriads.  Being  dead,  their  spirits  yet  live,  and 
without  insulting  exactions  to  pomp,  without  humiliations  to  arrogance,  come 
to  inform,  refresh  and  solace  even  the  most  unobtrusive  being  that  modestly 
moves  along  the  sequestered  paths.  In  their  cheerful  company  the  green  pas- 
tures seem  more  peaceful,  and  as  they  lead  us  beside  the  still  waters,  the  soft- 
tinted  glories  appear  to  rest  there  more  SAveetly. 

AVe  Americans  are  so  much  absorbed  in  developing  the  magnificent  resources 
of  our  beautiful  country,  in  building  for  those  who  are  to  inherit  its  blessings, 
that  few,  in  then-  hurried  lives,  find  calm,  quiet  hours  in  which  to  read  and  to 
enjoy.  Hasty  glances  at  the  sheet  given  to  the  details  of  passing  events,  is 
about  the  sum  total  of  the  attention  of  the  great  mass  of  our  people  to  the  great 
world  of  letters.  Compends  of  approved  literature,  arranged  for  fragments  of 
time,  as  a  kind  of  intellectual  lunches,  are  therefore  a  general  want  and  a  public 
benefit. 

Among  much  in  this  collection  that  is  new  will  be  found  much  that  is  old. 
And  this  last  is  not  an  objection.  What  we  have  read  in  youth,  we  often  read 
again  after  the  lapse  of  years  with  fresh  delight.  The  old  man  gi own  wise  as 
he  approaches  the  softening  twilight,  on  visiting  the  scenes  of  his  boyhood,  dis- 
covers new  beauties  in  the  landscape,  derives  new  sensations  from  its  blue 
arching  sky.  Memories  of  the  far  past  tenderly  unite  themselves  to  the  pres- 
ent with  a  sweet  and  soothing  melancholy.  He  reflects  upon  Avhat  he  was 
and  what  he  is.  Visions,  too,  of  the  future  rise  before  him— perhaps  visions  of 
celestial  glory,  of  eternal  rest,  of  the  bliss  of  an  all-pervading,  soul-absorbing 
love. 

Cincinnati,  O.  ^-  ^' 


CONTENTS 


SUNDAY  BOOK  OF  PLEASING  AND  COMFOETING  LITERATURE. 


AtrrnnR.  page 

The  Druid,  the  Jew,  and  the  Christian Prose Mrs.  Charles.. 7 

Conscience , Poetry Edward  Young l6 

The  Sabbath "       James  Grahame 14 

Unending  Life  on  Earth  Undesirable "        Soame  Jenjns 14 


....George  W.  Fulcher 15 

....Oliver  Goldsmith 15 

....Nathaniel  Cotton 17 

"   Alexander  Pope 17 

"   John  Gay IS 

....Oliver  Goldsmith 18 


The  Dying  Child " 

The  Deserted  Village " 

Sweetness  of  Night " 

Universal  Prayer 

A  Thought  on  Eternity " 

The  Divine  Goodness  apparent  in  tlie^  Pop 

Adaptation  of  the  Earth  to  Man,      j 

Christ's  Entrance  into  Jerusalem Poetry Nathaniel  P.  Willis 20 

Human  Love "        "  -^      21 

Tlie  Pleasant  Path  in  Life "       "  «     21 

Contemplation "        "  «     21 

Childhood "        "  «      21 

Interesting  Information  upon  the  Bible Prose Various  22 

What  is  in  Heaven Poetry Richard  RoUe 25 

Delight  in  God  only "       Francis  Quarles 25 

The  Emptiness  of  Riches "       Edward  Young 26 

The  New  Jerusalem "       26 

The  Immortality  of  the  Soul Prose Joseph  Addison 27 

The  Common  Lot Poetry James  Montgomery 28 

Elegy  in  a  Country  Church-yard "       Thomas  Gray 20 

The  Ancient  Man Prose Jean  Paul  Richter 30 

The  Good  Old  Grandmother Poetry 36 

The  Hour  of  Setting  Day •'        Mrs.  Browne 37 

The  Evening  Hour "       Leonard  Bacon dl 

37 

37 


Tl>e  Summer  Morning " 

Little  Christel « 

(iy) 


CONTENTS  OF  SUNDAY  BOOK. 


AUTHUK.  PAOK 

Omniscience  and  Omnipresence  of  the  Deity Prose Joseph  Addison 39 

Our  Imperfect  Knowledge  of  a  Future  State  i  „  ,t     ,    t.,   . 

.,    ,  ,     „      „      ...         „  ,,  L "      Hugh  Blair 41 

suited  to  the  Condition  of  Man,  J 

The  Hour  of  Prayer Poetry Mrs.  Hemans 43 

The  Evening  Bells "       Thomas  Moore 44 

The  Three  Sons "       James  Moultrie 44 

The  Insect  of  a  Day Prose 4.5 

iReligion  the  Foundation  of  Content "      Samuel  Johnson 47 

Little  Things Poetry Thomas  Davis 50 

The  Unregarded  Toils  of  the  Poor ' "       Mary  Ilowitt 50 

An  Evening  Reverie "       William  C.  Bryant 50 

The  Mountain  of  Miseries Prose Joseph  Addison 51 

5Iy  Psalm Poetry John  G.  Whittier 54 

.  The  Happy  Soul "       Isaac  Watts 55 

Eloquence  of  the  Scriptures Prose Stackhouse 55 

Holy  Scriptures Poetry .59 

Footsteps  of  Angels "       Henry  W.  Longfellow 60 

The  Happy  Life "        Sir  Henry  Wotten 60 

Resignation "        Henry  W.  Longfellow 61 

The  Grand  Object  of  Religion Prose Dr.  Clark 61 

Comforts  of  Religion -. "      Dr.  Gregory 62 

Trust  in  God  and  do  the  Right Poetry Norman  McLeod 63 

A  Good  Conscience "       R.  Southwell 63 

Man's  Mortality "       Simon  Wastell 64 

Influence  of  the  Parental  Character Prose Richard  Cecil 64 

Honor  Neale Poetry Archbishop  Trench 66 

Content  and  Discontent "       "  "      69 

The  Mariner's  Dream "       Dimond 69 

The  Three  Warnings "       Mrs.  Thrale 70 

The  Present  Life  Preparatory  to  ■>  n  t        1,    »  1 1-  -1 

^  •'        (. Prose Joseph  Addison d 

the  Happiness  of  Eternity,     j 

Vague  Hopes  of  Nature Poetry Alexander  Pope 73 

The  Beacon "        Thomas  Moore 73 

The  Creation "        C.F.Alexander 73 

Joy  in  Believing Prose Mrs.   Charles 74 

The  Lowly  Heart Poetry Ann  Lctitia  Waring 77 

Lord,  Remember  Me "        Thomas  Ilnweis 78 

Love  Song  of  the  Angels "       Edmund  H.  Sears 78 

Rest  in  Jesus "       Henry  F.  Lyte 78 

Rock  of  Ages "       Aug.  M.  Toplady 79 

Consolation  in  Sickness "        "  "       79 

Nearer  my  God "       Sarah  F.  Adams 80 

Thankfulness  for  Worldly  Blessings Prose Izaak  Walton 80 

The  Spotless  Character  of  Christ "      Jeremy  Taylor 8.'i 

Man-iage ..  "      "  '■      84 

The  Baby  Soldier Poetry 86 

LlUle  Mary's  Good  Morning  to  God "       S6 

28 


VI 


CONTENTS  OF  SUNDAY  BOOK. 


AUTHOR. 

Rejoicing  in  our  Risen  Lord Poetry Schotibero 


PAOB 

Cotta  Family 86 


Just  as  I  am " 

Rural  Sounds " 

City  and  Country  Compared " 

A  Home  Scene " 

Oppression  " 

Liberty " 

Spiritual  Liberty " 

Pleasure  from  the  Enjoyment  of  Animals " 

The  Happy  Man " 

The  Hermit " 

Diversity  in  Human  Character _....  " 


.C.  Elliott 87 

.William  Cowper 87 

.       "  "       87 


"  "       89 

"  "      90 

James  Beattie 91 

Alexander  Pope 92 

Love  of  Nature  tends  to  Love  of  God Prose John  Ruskin 92 


Chimes  of  Noon Poetry  , 

Follow  Me " 

Soliloquy  of  Alexander  Selkirk " 

Contentment " 


.Edna  Dean  Proctor. 


95 

96 

96 

97 

The  Autumn  Evening "       Peabody 97 


.William  Cowper. 


The  Flight  of  Time " 

A  Sabbath  Retrospect " 

Fritz  Instructing  the  Children Prose Schiinberg  Cotta  Family 98 


.James  G.  Percival 97 

.Henry  W.  Longfellow 98 


^UNDAYjBoOK  OF  |1/ LEASING  AND  mOMFORTING^lJlTEEATUEE. 


THE  DEUID,  THE  JEW,  AND  THE  CHEISTIAN. 

[We  bpgin  this  collection  with  an  article  from  "Sketches 
f»f  Christian  l^ife  in  England."  It  conipri;5e.s  the  ojjening 
chapter,  entitled  "  Lights  and  Shadowsoi  tlie  Early  l>a\vn." 
It  is  (liliicult  for  us  Americans,  descendants  oi'  Englishmen,  to 
realize  that,  in  the  ages  ot  antiquity,  our  lorelathers  could 
have  been  so  sunken  in  the  deptlis  of  superstition  as  to  otier 
lip  human  beings  in  sacrifice  to  the  unknown  spirits  that  they 
iielieved  controlled  the  destinies  of  man.  In  this  contempla- 
tion we  can  but  see  how  awlul  the  conception,  where  reve- 
lation has  been  withheld,  of  the  I'ower  that  created  and 
governs  our  world,  and  how  the  human  heart,  in  all  ages, 
has  yearned  for  spiritual  guidance  and  protection.  To  find 
in  it,  at  last,  a  loving  Father  and  most  tender  friend  should 
Boem  a  sweet  surprise  to  a  race  individually  given  here  liut 
a  brief  duration— their  own  existence  the  most  profound  of 
IPjfsteries,  and  enveloped  in  alternate  gloom  and  sunshine.] 

One  midsummer's  eve,  more  than  sev- 
enteen centuries  ago,  the  red  gleams  of 
a  huge  bonfire  contended  witli  the  pale 
moonbeams  in  clothing  with  fantastic 
light  and  shade  the  gigantic  piles  of  gran- 
ite which  crest,  as  with  a  natural  fortress, 
that  point  of  the  Cornish  coast  now  called 
Trorhyn  Castle.  The  wild  flickering  of 
the  flames  leaped  high  enough  at  times 
liven  to  touch  with  tlieir  fiery  glow  the 
edges  of  the  mysterious  Logan  rock, 
which  crowns  the  summit. 

That  it  was  no  mere  bonfire  of  merry- 
makers might  be  easily  seen  in  the  ear- 
nest fiices  and  grave  movements  of  the  men 
gathered  round  it.  They  were  not  min- 
gled in  a  confused  throng,  nor  scattered 
in  irregular  groups,  but  moved  solemnly 
round  the  fire  from  east  to  west,  follow- 
ing the  course  of  the  sun,  now  hidden 
from  the  gaze  from  that  shoreless  ocean 
whose  waves  thundered  ceaselessly 
against  the  base  of  the  cliff  on  which 
the}'  were  assembled. 


Their  steps  were  the  slow  and  meas- 
ured movements  of  a  sacred  mystic  dance ; 
and  as  they  circled  round  the  blaze,  thev 
sang  a  wild,  monotonous  chant,  to  whicK 
the  minor  intervals  gave,  not  the  plaint- 
ive tenderness  of  a  major  melody  broken 
by  a  minor  fall,  but  rather  the  abrupt  and 
savage  restlessness  of  a  combined  wail 
and  war-cry.  From  time  to  time,  the 
song  rose  with  the  flames  into  a  defiant 
shout,  and  then  sank  again  into  the  low 
crooning  of  a  dirge,  the  steps  of  the  sing- 
ers changing  with  the  music  from  a  rapid 
march  to  the  slow  tramp  of  a  funeral  pro- 
cession. The  sacred  miisic  of  that  old 
British  race  resolved  itself  into  no  calm, 
restful,  major  close. 

Theirs  was  the  woi'ship  of  a  conquered 
race,  and  of  a  proscribed  religion.  l)rivei\ 
bj-  the  Romans  from  their  temples  in  the 
interior  of  the  island  —  temples  whoso 
unhewn  and  gigantic  grandeur  not  even 
the  persistency  of  Iloman  enmity  could 
ruin — this  little  band  of  the  old  lords  of 
the  land  had  met  in  that  remote  recess, 
not  yet  trodden  by  the  conqueror's  feet, 
to  celebrate  the  rites  of  their  ancient 
faith,  under  the  guidance  of  one  of  the.ir 
own  proscribed  Druid  priesthood. 

There,  under  the  shadow  of  that  graml 
natural  fortress,  to  us  so  like  one  ot  their 
own  Druid  temples,  they  had  kindled  ou 
:^ray-day  the  sacred  "Fire  of  God;"  and 
here  on  midsummer  eve  they  now  gath- 
ered round  the  ''Fire  of  Peace." 


SUNDAY   BOOK    OF 


At  length  the  rites,  endeared  to  them 
as  the  last  relics  of  their  national  exist- 
ence, "were  finished;  the  wild  chant  was 
eiJent,  succeeded  hy  the  ceaseless  roar 
<)f  the  breakers;  and  the  torches  were 
kindled  at  the  sacred  fire,  to  relight  once 
more,  from  a  sacred  source,  the  household 
tires  that  night,  according  to  their  cus- 
tom, extinguished. 

One  by  one  the  little  British  company 
dispersed,  and  could  be  traced  along  tlio 
cliffs,  or  inland  across  the  unbroken 
moorland,  by  the  glare  of  their  torches. 

The  Druid  was  left  alone.  A  solemn, 
solitary  figure,  he  stood  on  the  deserted 
space  by  the  decaying  fire,  his  fine  form 
still  erect,  although  the  long  beard,  char- 
acteristic of  his  priestly  office,  was  snow- 
white  with  age.  The  fitful  glow  of  the 
expiring  embers  threw  a  mysterious  liglit 
on  the  foldsof  his  Avhite  robe,  and  gleamed 
on  the  rays  of  the  broad  golden  circlet 
which  bound  his  brow.  Turning  from 
the  fire,  he  looked  across  the  sea,  scarcely 
more  solitary  or  wild  than  the  rugged 
shore  on  which  he  lingered. 

It  was  always  a  dreary  moment  to  him 
when  the  solemn  rites  were  over,  and  the 
worshipers  Avere  gone.  A  few  minutes 
since  he  had  stood  before  the  awe-strick- 
en thi'ong  as  one  altogether  aj)art  and 
exalted,  a  medium  of  intercourse  with 
the  unknown  supreme  powers,  a  repre- 
sentative of  the  majesty  so  dimly  under- 
stood, so  vividly  dreaded  ;  and  their  faith 
had  thrown  back  a  reflected  reality  on 
his.  But  now  he  stood  alone,  a  mortal 
man,  to  whom  the  unseen  was,  indeed,  as 
unknown  as  to  the  meanest  of  those  wor- 
shipers ;  and  he  felt  he  Avould  gladly 
liave  borrowed  from  the  meanest  and 
most  credulous  among  them  that  faith 
in  the  invisible  which  his  presence  in- 
spired in  others,  but  Avhich  he  found  it 
so  hard  to  maintain  in  himself.  His  peo- 
ple, looking  with  dim  and  longing  e^'es 
into  the  infinite,  at  least  saw  him,  while 
he  saw  only  a  blank  infinity. 

Musing  thus,  he  gazed  on  that  restless, 
Doundless    ocean,   the  broad   sweep   of 


whose  waves  measured  the  long  path  of 
moonlight  with  their  "perspective  of  di- 
minishing curves.  Could  it  be  possible, 
he  thought,  that  at  the  end  of  that  ra- 
diant pathway,  human  eyes  (were  they 
but  pure  enough)  might  see  the  silvery 
outlines  of  that  "Isle  of  the  Brave, "where 
he  taught  his  people  the  spirits  of  their 
dead  were  resting?  Could  it  be  that  the 
waves  which  broke  with  that  wild  and 
wistful  music  at  his  feet  might  sound  in 
human  ears  (were  they  but  worthy  to 
hear)  the  echoes  of  those  deathless  shores 
in  the  far  west,  where  perhaps  they  had 
received  their  first  impulse? 

Thus  he  was  musing,  until  his  reverie 
was  broken  by  the  sound  of  footsteps 
close  at  hand.  Turning  hastily  round, 
he  saw  between  him  and  the  fire  a  dark 
form  wrajrt  in  a  Roman  mantle. 

"\Yho  art  thou,"  he  asked  abruptly, 
"that  has  tracked  us  thus  to  our  last 
refuge?  Thou  hast  lighted  on  what  may 
prove  to  thee  a  treasure  better  than 
any  of  the  mines  thj'  people  grudge  us. 
Doubtless  thou  seest,"  he  added  bitterly, 
"that  I  am  one  of  that  proscribed  Druid 
priesthood  whom,  unarmed  and  defense- 
less, your  Roman  armies  so  much  dread. 
Denounce  mo  to  the  rulers  if  thou  wilt. 
I  will  follow  thee  without  a  struggle.  Of 
what  avail  to  me  is  life?  And  who  knows 
what  secret  death  may  teach  ?" 

"I  am  no  Roman,"  said  the  stranger, 
sadly.  "On  my  people,  also,  the  wrath 
of  those  irresistible  legions  has  fallen.  I, 
also,  am  one  of  the  priesthood  of  a  pro- 
scribed religion,  and  of  a  conquered  race. 
Far  in  the  cast,  my  people  had  once  a 
city  beautiful  beyond  all  on  earth,  and  a 
temple  Avhere  white-robed  j)riests,  mi- 
tered  with  gold,  ministered  and  sacrificed 
to  Him  whose  name  must  not  be  uttered. 
Our  temple  is  burned  with  fire,  our  city 
is  laid  waste,  and  trodden  under  foot  of 
strangers;  our  peoyjle  are  scattered  east 
and  west,  and  I  among  them.  I  had  lost 
my  way  to-night  on  this  wild  coast,  as  I 
Avas  journeying  to  the  port  near  this, 
whither  of  old  our  fathers  came  to  traffi<j, 


PLEASING   AND    COMFOETING   LITERATUEE. 


i< 


when  seeing  the  unusual  gleam  of  this 
fire,  I  came  to  learn  what  it  meant.  Thou 
seest  no  ally  of  the  Romans  in  me." 

The  Druid  was  appeased,  and  lay  aside 
his  priestly  vestments;  he  appeared  in 
the  ordinary  Celtic  j^laid  worn  by  his 
tribe.  The  two  men  found  a  strange  link 
in  their  isolation  from  other  men;  and, 
piling  up  ttie  scattered  logs  on  the  dying 
embers,  they  agreed  to  remain  together 
there  until  the  dawn  should  throw  suf- 
ficient light  on  their  path  to  enable  them 
to  travel  safely  along  those  rugged  cliffs 
against  which  the  waves,  now  hidden  in 
the  shades  of  night,  seemed  to  roar  and 
chafe  like  raging  and  disappointed  beasts 
of  prey. 

"Your  priestly  vestments  remind  mo 
gtrangely,"  said  the  Hebrew,  when  they 
were  reseated  by  the  fire,  "  of  the  sacred 
robes  my  forefather  wore  of  old.  Whence 
did  your  religion  come?" 

"  The  sources  of  sacred  things  arc  hid- 
den in  night,"  replied  the  Druid.  "Some 
say  our  religion  was  taught  direct  from 
heaven ;  some,  that  it  was  brought,  before 
the  memory  of  man,  from  a  land  in  the 
far  East,  whence,  after  the  great  flood, 
the  father  and  the  mother  of  our  race 
came  forth." 

"In  those  distant  ages,"  said  the  Jew, 
"doubtless  your  forefathers  and  ours  were 
one.  Since  you  had  a  priesthood,  had 
you  then  also  a  temple  and  sacred  rites?" 

"We  had  many  temjiles,"  was  the  ro- 
plyj  "gigantic  circles  of  stone,  as  un- 
hewn and  as  enormous  as  these  amidst 
which  we  stand.  Huge  fragments  of 
the  solemn  cliffs,  and  mountains,  set  up 
in  unrivaled  majesty  on  the  solitary 
sweeps  of  our  great  inland  ])lains,  roofed 
by  the  heavens  and  floored  by  the  bare 
unsmoothed  earth.  I  laugh  when  I  see 
the  pigmy  temples  in  Avliich  these  Eo- 
mans  bow  down  before  their  little  men 
and  women  gods." 

"You  had,  then,  no  graven  images?" 

"Of  old  we  had  none,  and  never  any 
in  our  temples.  We  have  but  one  image 
of  the  highest;  if,  indeed,"  he  added,  in 


a  low  and  awed  voice,  "he  is  only  an 
image !  Our  worship  is  directed  to  the 
sun.  Following  his  eternal  course  from 
east  to  west,  our  sacred  dances  move. 
At  his  rising,  we  rejoice.  When,  in  flow- 
ery May,  his  beams'  once  more  begin  to 
make  the  earth  fruitful,  we  kindle  in  his 
honor  the  Fire  of  God,  and  begin  our 
year  anew.  When  he  has  risen  in  mid- 
summer to  his  highest  seat  in  the  heav- 
ens, and  reigns  in  his  fullest  might,  wo 
kindle  the  sacred  'Fire  of  Peace,'  as  to- 
night, in  honor  of  his  peaceful  and  con- 
summated dominion." 

"  Since,  then,  you  had  temples,  had  }■  ou 
also  sacrifices?" 

"  We  had,"  was  the  solemn  reply ;  "but 
not  such  as  those  of  the  Eomans;  not 
only  the  white  steer  from  the  herd,  or  the 
spotless  lamb  from  the  flock ;  we  offered 
to  our  gods  costlier  sacrifices  than  these, 
and  dearer  life." 

"What  life,  then?"  said  the  Jew  in 
horror. 

"  The  only  life  worthy-  to  be  accepted 
for  the -life  of  man,"  was  the  reply;  "tho 
only  life  worthy  to  be  offered  to  the  Im- 
mortal." 

"Your  altars  were  stained  with  human 
blood!"  said  the  Jew,  with  a  shudder; 
"your  people  had  indeed,  then,  a  ditter- 
ent  law  from  mine.  But  to  whom,"  lie 
continued,  after  a  pause,  "  did  you  ofi'er 
these  terrible  ofterings?" 

"The  various  tribes  of  our  race  had 
various  names  for  him,"  said  the  Druid,  in 
a  low  voice.  "Some  called  him  Hu,  and 
some  Dhia  or  Dhe,  and  some  Beal,  the 
life  of  all  life,  the  source  of  all  being." 

The  JcAV  started  as  the  name  de- 
nounced by  his  pro]ihcts,  and  abhorred 
by  his  race,  fell  on  his  car.  yet  strangely 
blended  with  a  word  like  the  uncommu- 
nicablc  name  he  might  not  utter,  tho 
mysterious  Jah. 

""It  is  very  strange!"  he  said  atlcngfh. 
"Your  Avords  sound  to  me  like  the  eciio 
of  the  utterances  of  the  prophets  of  my 
people,  resounding  through  the  ages  as 
the  waves  througk  one  of  these  ocean 


10 


SUNDAY   BOOK   OF 


caverns,  broken  as  they  rebound  in 
strange  discords  and  wild  confusion. 
Had  you  then  no  sacred  Avritings?"' 

"We  have  none,"  said  the  Druid.  "Our 
aged  priests  teach  the  .sacred  words  in 
solemn  chants  to  the  priestl}^  neophytes, 
and  initiate  them  in  the  sacred  rites.  So 
we  were  taught;  so  shall  we  teach  those 
that  follow,  if  the  world  of  our  race  is  to 
endure." 

"But,"  said  the  Jew,  "did  you  never 
shrink  from  the  sufferings  of  the  victims 
as  you  sacrificed  them,  or  think  whether 
there  might  not  be  some  piety  in  the 
Eternal,  which  might  revolt  from  such 
rites?" 

"Am  I  not  a  man?"  was  the  reply. 
"Doubtless  my  heart  often  ached  at  the 
sufferings  of  those  we  sacrificed,  espe- 
cially at  first.  But  the  sufferers  were, 
for  the  most  part,  criminals,  or  captives 
taken  in  war ;  and  what  was  I,  to  be  wiser 
than  the  aged  who  taught  me?" 

The  remembrance  of  the  sacred  name, 
revealed  to  the  law-giver  of  his  nation, 
rushed  in  on  the  heart  of  the  Jew — of 
"Jehovah  Jehovah  Elohini,"  the  eternal 
and  the  mighty,  "merciful  and  gracious, 
long-suffering,  abounding  in  goodness 
and  trxith,  yet  by  no  means  clearing  the 
guilty;"  and  with  it  came  the  recollec- 
tion of  that  ritual  so  stern  in  its  demands 
for  the  acknowledgment  of  sin,  and  of 
the  forfeited  right  of  the  sinner  to  life, 
yet  so  jealous  in  its  guard  over  that  hu- 
man life  it  declared  foi'feit. 

"Are  you  sure  that  your  god  hears 
you  when  you  thus  invoke  and  sacrifice 
to  him?"  he  said,  after  a  pause. 

"We  assure  the  people  of  these  things," 
was  the  evasive  reply ;  "  and  also  of  re- 
wards and  punishments  in  the  world  be- 
yond. The  people  need  the  barriers  of 
such  belief  to  keep  them  from  crime." 

"But  you  do  not  teach  what  you  do 
not  believe?" 

"  Belief  is  not  so  easy  for  the  in- 
structed," was  the  reply.  "Who  that 
has  looked  into  the  depths  of  life  can  rest 
and  believe  like  the  ignorant?" 


"Our  flxith,"  said  the  Jew,  mournfully, 
"  was  a  faith  for  all ;  our  most  sacred  truths 
was  for  the  peasant  as  well  as  for  the 
priest.  Among  us  the  seers  revealed 
what  they  had  seen,  and  the  prophets  be- 
lieved what  they  taught." 

The  Druid  listened  long,  with  grave 
interest,  as  the  Hebrew  spoke  of  that 
God  who  was  revealed  to  his  people  as 
at  once  so  awful  and  so  near,  before 
Avhom  the  prophet  said,  "The  holy  hosts, 
above  veil  their  faces,"  and  yet  their 
shepherd-king  could  say,  "He  is  my 
shepherd."     At  length  he  said: 

"But  since  you  had  such  revelations, 
and  such  a  faith,  and  were  a  nation  so 
honored  by  the  highest,  how  can  it  bo 
that  you  ai'e  a  banished  man  like  me? 
Did  you  not  speak  of  the  city  of  your 
people  as  laid  waste,  and  their  sanctuary 
as  desecrated?     What  does  this  mean?" 

"I  know  not,  or  at  least  I  can  only 
partly  conjecture,"  was  the  sad  reply. 
"Our  people  had  sinned,  and  our  God  is 
one  who  will  not  clear  the  guilty.  Once 
before,  our  fathers  were  driven  from 
their  homes  into  that  yet  further  East, 
whence  first  they  came,  and  our  holy  and 
beautiful  house  was  burned  with  fire. 
Yet  then,  in  their  exile,  they  had  proph- 
ets and  promises,  and  a  limit  fixed  to 
their  disgrace,  at  the  end  of  which  they 
were,  indeed,  restored.  But  now,  alas! 
we  have  no  prophets,  nor  any  one  who 
can  interjn'et.  Scattered  hither  and 
thither,  we  lose  the  record  of  our  line- 
age. Our  glory  is  all  in  the  past.  In 
all  the  future  I  can  see  no  vision  of  hope. 
It  seems  to  me,  sometimes,  as  if  our  na- 
tion had  made  shipwreck  in  the  night, 
on  some  unknown  sunken  rock.  Around 
us  and  before  us  is  no  shore,  nor  any 
light  in  view,  save  in  that  distant  past 
to  which  the  blazing  ruins  of  our  temple 
warn  us  we  may  not  return." 

"Yet,"  resumed  the  Druid,  "had  it 
been  otherwise  with  j'our  nation,  scarcely 
would  your  prosperity  have  brought  hope 
to  the  world,  to  other  races,  or  to  mine. 
You  say  it  was  to  your  nation  only  God 


PLEASING   AND    COMFOETING   LITEEATURE. 


11 


spoke;  to  your  nation  alone  those  prom- 
ises were  made,  which,  in  some  incom- 
prehensible way,  you  have  lost.  The 
world,  then,  has  lost  little  in  your  fall." 

"I  know  not,"  replied  the  Jew.  " Our 
prophets  spoke  of  the  veil  being  rent 
from  all  people,  and  of  all  nations  com- 
ing to  the  brightness  of  the  rising  of  a 
King  who  was  to  reign  over  ours." 

"Did  this  King,  then,  never  come?" 

"How  can  he  have  come?"  said  the 
Jew,  with  a  strange  impatience.  "How 
should  I  then  be  here,  an  exile  without 
a  country  ?  And  was  not  our  King  to 
come  as  a  conqueror  and  a  Eedeemer  for 
our  nation,  as  a  sun  flashing  his  iinques- 
tionable  glory  upon  all  nations?  There  is, 
indeed,"  he  added,  "a  fanatical  sect  who 
sprang  from  our  race,  who  assei^t  that 
our  King  has  come,  and  that  it  is  for  re- 
jecting him  we  are  rejected.  But  who 
can  believe  this?" 

"It  would  be  terrible,  truly,  for  your 
people  to  believe  it!"  said  the  Druid. 
"  Those  among  you  who  think  thus  might 
be  a  mourning  and  wretched  company." 

"Nay,"  was  the  answer,  "they  are  not. 
Their  delusion  leads  them  to  profess 
themselves  the  most  blessed  of  men. 
They  think  that  he  whom  they  call 
King  and  Lord,  who,  not  much  more 
than  a  hundred  years  ago,  was  crucified 
by  the  Eomans  in  our  cit}',  has  arisen 
from  the  dead,  and  lives  in  heaven,  and 
they  say  they  are  glad  to  depart  to  him." 

"Their  hope  extends,  then,  be3'ond 
death,"  said  the  Druid,  abstracted!}'. 
"There  are,  then,  some  who  think  they 
know  of  one  who  visited  the  'Isle  of  the 
Brave,'  and  has  come  back  to  tell  what 
he  saw!" 

As  they  spoke,  the  dawn  began  to 
break  over  the  green  slopes  of  the  shore 
on  a  promontory  of  which  they  sat. 
One  by  one  the  higher  points  of  that 
magnificent  series  of  i^ock  bastions  which 
guard  our  country  from  the  Atlantic,  like 
a  fortress  of  God,  caught  the  early  sun- 
beam. Soon  the  ocean  was  also  bathed 
in  another  ocean  of  light,  broken  only 


by  the  shadow  of  the  cliffs,  or  by  the 
countless  purple  cups  of  shade,  which 
gave  an  individual  existence  to  everv 
one  of  those  wonderful  translucent  greeii 
waves.  The  two  priests  of  the  two  re- 
ligions moved  slowly  across  the  pass  be- 
tween the  rocks  which  separates  the  nat- 
ural castled  bulwark,  where  they  had 
passed  the  night,  from  the  green  slopes 
of  the  coast  within. 

"See,"  exclaimed  the  Druid,  "how  the 
fire  which,  during  the  hours  of  darkness. 
was  all  our  light,  now  lies  a  faint  red 
stain  on  the  daylight;  Avhile  the  waves, 
which  all  night  roared  around  us  like 
angry  demons,  quietly  heave  in  the  sun- 
shine. The  earth  has  her  daAvns  renewed 
continually.  Will  no  new  sun  ever  rise 
for  man?  Must  the  golden  dawn  for  us 
be  always  in  the  past?" 

Too  deep  a  shadow  rested  for  the  Jew 
on  the  glorious  predictions  of  his  propli- 
ets  for  him  to  give  an  answer,  and  si- 
lently they  went  along  the  cliflls. 

When  they  had  walked  inland  thus  for 
some  time,  they  saw  before  them  a  la- 
borer, in  an  eai'th-stained  and  common 
dress,  going  to  his  work  in  one  of  the 
mines  which  of  old  had  tempted  the 
Phenicians  to  those  veiy  shores. 

This  miner  was  evidently  ver^-  young, 
and  had  the  lithe  grace  of  the  south  about 
his  form  and  movements.  As  he  walked 
he  sang,  and  the  tones  of  his  rich  south- 
ern tenor  rose  clear  and  full  through  the 
clear  morning  air.  The  cadence  was 
difterent  from  any  music  the  Druid  had 
ever  heard.  There  was  a  repose  about 
the  melody  quite  foreign  to  the  wild 
wails  or  the  war  songs  of  his  people. 
And,  as  they  drew  near,  the  language 
Avas  to  him  as  strange.  They  stepped  on 
softly  behind  the  singer,  and  listened. 

"Strange  words  to  hear  in  such  a 
place,"  murmured  the  Jew,  at  length. 
'>They  are  Greek — the  language  of  a 
people  who  dwelt  of  old,  and  dwell  still, 
in  the  East,  near  the  home  of  my  fore- 
fathers." 

They    drew    near    and    greeted    the 


12 


SUNDAY   BOOK    OF 


stranger.  There  was  a  gentle  and  easy 
courtesy  in  his  manner  as  he  returned 
their  salutations,  which,  in  a  son  of  the 
North,  would  have  betokened  high  breed- 
ing, but  in  him  might  be  merely  the 
natural  bearing  of  his  acute  and  versa- 
tile race.  He  willingly  complied,  Avhen 
the  Jew  asked  him  to  repeat  his  song, 
which  he  translated  thus  to  the  Druid  : 


Glory  to  God  in  the  highest, 

And  on  Earth  peace, 

Good  will  among  men. 

We  praise  Thee, 

We  bless  Thee, 

We  worship  Thee 

For  Thy  great  glory, 

O  Lord,  lieavenly  King. 

O  God  the  Father,  ruling  all ; 

O  Lord,  the  only-begotten 

Son, 
Savior,  Messiah ; 
With  the  Holy  Spirit, 


0  Lord  God, 

Lamb  of  God, 

Son  of  the  Father, 

Who  takest  away  the  Bins  of 

the  world. 
Receive  our  prayer. 
Thou  who  fittest  at  the  right 

hand  of  the  Father, 
Have  mercy  on  us, 
For  Thou  ouly  art  holy — 
Thou  only  art  the  Lord, 
Savior  and  Messiah— 
To  the  glory  of  God  the  Father. 
Amen. 


"Ask  him  if  he  has  any  other  such 
sacred  songs,"  said  the  Druid ;  "the  words 
sound  to  me  beautiful  and  true,  like  an 
echo  of  half-forgotten  music,  heard  long 
ago  in  some  former  life,  from  which  j^er- 
chance  my  soul  came  unto  this." 

"  I  will  chant  you  our  evening  hymn," 
said  the  miner ;  and  he  sane:  again  : 


Joyful  light   of  heavenly 

glory. 
Of  the  immortal  heavenly 

Fatlier, 
The  holy  and  the  blessed 
Jesus  Christ! 
We,  coming  at  the  setting  of 

the  sun. 
Seeing  the  evening  light. 


Hymn  the  Father  and  the 

Son, 
And  the  Holy  Spirit,  God. 
Worthy  art  Thou  at  all  times 

to  be  praised 
With  holy  voices.  Son  of  God, 
Thou  who  givest  light. 
Therefore,  doth  the  world 

glorify  Thee. 


''Wonderful  words,"  said  the  Jew, 
after  translating  them.  "They  seem  al- 
most like  a  response  from  heaven  to  what 
you  said ;  like  the  promise  of  the  dawn 
for  man  for  which  you  longed.  Friend," 
he  said  to  the  miner,  "how  earnest  thou 
hither?  Thy  learning  is  above  thy  call- 
ing." 

"Not  so,"  replied  the  other,  meekly. 
"I  was  never  other  than  a  poor  man. 
These  truths  are  common  to  the  most 
unlettered  among  us." 

"To  whom  does  he  allude  by  'us?'" 
asked  the  Druid,  when  he  understood. 

"We  are  the  Christians,  the  men  of 
Christ,"  said  the  stranger,  i*eplying  to 
the  Druid  in  his  own  native  Celtic  lan- 
guage, although  with  a  foreign  accent. 


"  I  was  a  vine-dresser  on  the  sunny  hills 
near  Smyrna.  My  father  learned  the 
faith  from  the  Apostle  John,  the  Be- 
loved ;  and  I  was  exiled  hither  to  work 
in  the  mines  in  the  far  West,  because  I 
could  not  deny  my  Lord." 

"Bitter  change,"  said  the  Jew,  "from 
those  vine-clad  southern  hills  to  toil  in  the 
darkness  on  these  cold  northern  shores." 

"  Where  I  am  going  there  will  be  no 
need  of  the  sun,"  was  the  calm  reply ; 
but  the  ominous  hectic  flush  deepened 
on  his  hollow  cheek. 

"How,  then,"  said  the  Druid,  "  is  your 
faith  maintained  in  this  life  of  exile  and 
bondage?  Here  you  can  have  no  tem- 
ple and  no  priest." 

"We  have  a  temple!"  was  the  joyful 
re2:)ly,  "not  made  with  hands;  and  a 
priest,  though  not  now  seen  by  mortal 
eyes." 

"He  speaks  in  parables,"  said  the 
Druid. 

"  I  speak  no  parables,"  said  the  Chris- 
tian, "but  simply  matters  of  fact,  of  which 
we  are  all  assured." 

"Have  you  then  also  sacrifices?"  asked 
the  Druid. 

"  We  have  a  sacrifice,"  was  the  low 
and  reverent  reply;  "one  spotless  and 
eternal,  never  more  to  be  repeated.  The 
Highest  gave  his  Son.  The  Holy  One 
yielded  up  himself.  God  has  provided 
the  Lamb.  The  Lamb  of  God  and  the 
Son  of  God  are  one." 

"He  speaks  of  the  promise  made  to 
our  father  Abraham,"  exclaimed  the 
Jew. 

"Life  for  life,"  murmured  the  Druid; 
"life  of  man  for  life  of  man." 

"Nay,  it  was  not  man  who  made  the 
sacrifice,"  said  the  Christian,  "but  God. 
Not  the  sinner's  life  was  required;  the 
Son  yielded  up  his  own." 

"You  have,  then,  no  sacrifices  to  offer 
now,"  said  the  Druid. 

"Not  so,"  said  the  Christian,  joyfully; 
"we  have  a  daily,  ceaseless  sacrifice  to 
offer — a  living  sacrifice,  acceptable  to  God 
through  Jesus  Christ;  even  ourselves,  to 


PLEASING   AND    COMFOETING   LITEEATURE. 


13 


do  and  suffer  all  the  holy  will  of  God — 
we  ourselves,  body,  soul,  and  spirit,  to 
fulfill  the  Avill  of  Him  who  loved  us  and 
redeemed  us  with  his  precious  blood  of 
God." 

"But,"  resumed  the  Druid,  "is  that 
holy  life,  which  you  say  was  willingly 
yielded  up  for  man,  extinct  forever? 
Shall  the  holy  perish,  and  the  guilty 
live?" 

"Nay,"  was  the  reply,  in  a  tone  of 
concentrated  fervor,  "that  immortal  life 
could  not  perish.  The  Son  of  God  is 
risen  from  the  dead,  and  dieth  no  more. 
And  now,"  he  continiied,  speaking  ea- 
gerly, as  one  who  has  good  news  to  tell, 
"he  sitteth  enthroned  at  the  right  hand 
of  God,  the  Sun  of  the  City  above." 

"Have  you,  then,  also  a  sacred  city?" 
said  the  Jew,  in  a  tone  of  surprise." 

"It  licth  toward  the  sun-rising,"  re- 
plied the  Christian,  in  the  words  of  an 
early  martyr,  "Jerusalem  the  heavenly, 
the  city  of  the  holy." 

"  Your  golden  age,  your  holy  city,  are 
then  in  the  future,  not  in  the  past?"  said 
both. 

"You  speak  of  an  immortal  life  for 
each  man,"  added  the  Druid;  "but  is 
there  never  to  be  a  good  time  for  man- 
kind?" 

*^  It  is  ^An'itten  that  the  King,  the  Christ, 
will  come  again  in  glor}'-,  to  judge  the 
wicked  and  to  raise  the  just,"  was  the 
reply;  "and  that  then  truth  and  right- 
eousness shall  reign  on  earth ;  for  he  is 
holy,  and  just,  and  true,  and  in  Him  all 
the  nations  of  the  earth  shall  be  blessed." 

Often  duringthe  months  that  Ibllowed, 
the  Hebrew  and  the  Druid  sought  that 
lowly  miner's  hut.  There  Jew  and  Gen- 
tile learned  together  concerning  Him 
who  is  the  Hope  of  Israel  and  the  De- 
sire of  all  nations. 

The  blank  wall  of  darkness,  which,  to 
the  Jew,  had  seemed  so  strangely  and 
abruptly  to  close  the  long  path  of  pro- 
phetic light  and  promise,  pai-ted  and  dis- 
solved, displaying  to  his  adoring  gaze 
a  sacrifice  to  whom  all  sacrifices  pointed, 


the  Priest  in  whom  all  priesthood  is 
consummated,  the  King  of  whom  Hebrew- 
kings  and  prophets  sang,  in.  whom  all 
dominion  centers. 

To  the  Druid,  the  dim  desires  cf  his 
heart  were  at  once  explained  and  ful- 
filled. Sin  and  falsehood  were  distovered 
and  brought  to  shame.  "Life  and  im- 
mortality Avere  brought  to  light."  And 
on  both  gradually  dawned,  as  the  power 
and  wisdom  of  God,  not  a  doctrine  merely, 
nor  the  ritual,  but  the  Christ,  the  Son  of 
the  living  God. 

Thus  along  on  the  rocky  shores  of  the 
Atlantic  rose,  in  threefold  harmon}-,  tho 
Christian  hj^mns  to  Him  who  hcareth 
always;  tho  Sun  whose  presence  is  day 
to  faith,  the  glory  for  which  Israel  waited, 
the  Eedeemer  for  whom  all  nations 
blindly  groped  and  longed,  the  Lamb  of 
God  who  taketh  away  the  sin  of  tho 
world. 

There,  also,  erelong,  in  that  lowly  hut, 
those  strangers  watched,  as  brothers, 
by  the  death-bed  of  the  Smyrniate  exile, 
now  one  with  them  in  Christ.  And  there, 
on  that  bleak  shore,  they  buried  him,  in 
a  quiet  nook,  consecrated  by  solitude, 
and  thenceforth  by  the  immortal  seed  of 
"the  body  that  shall  be."  Paces  have 
passed  awa}'  since  then,  and  civilizations; 
rituals  and  religious  systems  have  grown 
up,  run  to  seed,  and  perished  ;  but  from 
those  early  ages  to  this,  that  new  song 
of  life  and  hope  has  never  been  entirely 
silenced  on  our  British  shores. 


CONSCIENCE. 

fEHward  Yontis,  Tiorn  in  liV^l ;  niithor  of  tho  cflfliratf^ 
"  Night  Thoustlits,"  a  work  of  sciiius,  but  oppressive  Irom 
its  gloomy  views  of  lifo  aud  religion,  j 

0  TREAniEROus  Conscience !   while  she  seems  to 

sleep 
On  rose  and  myrtle,  luUerl  with  syren  song; 
While  she  seenis,  norMina;  o'er  her  charge,  to  drop 
On  headlong  Appetite  the  slackened  rein, 
And  give  us  up  to  License,  unrecalled, 
Unmarked;— see,  from  behind  her  secret  Stand 
The  sly  informer  minutes  every  faiilt. 
And  her  dread  diary  with  horror  fills. 


14 


SUNDAY   BOOK   OF 


THE  SABBATH. 

JAMES  ORAHAMB. 

fThese  lioes  are  from  a  poem  entitled  'The  Sabbath,"  by 
James  Grahame,  a  modest  Scotch  cleigjman,  who  died  half  a 
coutuiy  ago.  A  pleasant  anecdote  is  related  connected  with 
its  publication  lie  had  not  atlixed  his  name  to  the  book, 
nor  acquainted  his  family  with  the  secret  of  its  composition. 
'I'akintr  a  copy  liomi'  with  liim  one  day,  he  left  it  on  the  ta- 
ble. His  wife  bt-sau  I'ciulin:?  it,  while  the  sensitive  author 
walked  up  and  down  tin-  room  ,  at  length  she  broke  out  in 
praise  of  tlie  poem   adding,   "  All,  James,  if  you  could  but 

Eroduce  a  poem  like  this  !"     The  joyful  acknowledgment  of 
is  being  the  author   was   then   made,  no  doubt  with  the 
juost  exquisite  pleasure  on  both  sides. J 

How  still  the  morning  of  the  hallowed  day! 
Mute  is  the  voice  of  rural  labor,  hushed 
The  ploughboy's  whistle-,  and  the  milkmaid's  song. 
The  scythe  lies  glittering  in  the  dewy  wreath 
Of  tedded  grass,  mingled  with  fading  flowers 
That  yester-morn  bloomed  waving  in  the  breeze ; 
Sounds  the  most  faint  attract  the  ear; — the  hum 
Of  early  bee,  the  trickling  of  the  dew. 
The  distant  bleating,  mid-way  up  the  hill. 
Calmness  sits  throned  on  yon  unjnoving  cloud. 
To  him,  who  wanders  o'er  the  upland  leas, 
The  blackbird's    note   comes  mellower  from  the 

dale. 
And  sweeter  from  the  sky  the  gladsome  lark 
Warbles  his  heaven-tuned  song;  the  lulling  brook 
Murmurs  more  gently  down  the  deep-worn  glen; 
While  from  yon  lowly  roof,  whose  curling  smoke 
O'ermounts  the  mist,  is  heard,  at  intervals, 
The  voice  of  psalms,  the  simple  song  of  praise. 
With  dove-like  wings,  Peace  o  er  you  village 

broods : 
The  dizzying  mill-wheel  rests;  the  anvil's  din 
Hath  ceased;  all,  all  around  is  quietness. 
Less  fearful  on  this  day,  the  limping  hare 
Stops,  and  looks  back,  and  stops,  and  looks  on 

man. 
Her  deadliest  foe.     The  toil-worn  horse,  set  free, 
Unheedful  of  the  pasture,  roams  at  large; 
And,  as  his  stiff  unwieldy  bulk  he  rolls. 
His  iron-armed  hoofs  gleam  in  the  morning  ray. 

But  chiefly  Man  the  day  of  rest  enjoys. 
Hail,  Sabbath !  thee  I  hail,  the  poor  man's  day. 
On  other  days,  the  man  of  toil  is  doomed 
To  eat  his  joyless  bread,  lonely  ;  the  ground 
Both  seat  and  board;   screened  from  the  winter's 

cold. 
And  summer's  heat,  by  neighboring  hedge  or  tree; 
But  on  this  day,  embosomed  in  his  home, 
He  shares  the  frugal  meal  with  those  he  loves; 
With  those  he  loves  he  shares  the  heartfelt  joy 
Of  giving  thanks  to  God, — not  thanks  of  form, 
A  word  and  a  grimace,  but  reverently, 
With  covered  face  and  upward  earnest  eye. 

Hail,  Sabbath  !  thee  I  hail,  the  poor  man's  day. 
The  pale  mechanic  now  has  leave  to  breathe 
The  morning  air,  pure  from  the  city's  smoke; 
While  wandering  slowly  up  the  river  side. 
He  meditates  oa  Him,  whose  power  he  marks 


In  each  green  tree,  that  proudly  spreads  the 

bough. 
As  in  the  tiny  dew-bent  flowers  that  bloom 
Around  its  root;  and  while  he  thus  surveys, 
AVith  elevated  joy,  each  rural  charm. 
He  hopes,  yet  fears  presumption  in  the  hope, 
That  Heaven  may  be  one  Sabbath  without  end. 


UNENDING  LIFE  ON  EAETH  TJNDESIKABLIL 

[Soame  Jenyns,  an  old  English  writer.) 

To  live  a  hundred  years,  or  e'er  so  few, 

T  is  repetition  all,  and  nothing  new; 

A  Fair  where  thousands  meet,  but  none  can 

stay ; 
An  Inn  where  travelers  bait,  then  post  away; 
A  Sea  where  man  perpetually  is  tost, 
Now  plunged  in  business,  now  in  trifles  lost; 
Who  leaves  it  first,  the  peaceful  port  first  gain. 

Might  I  from  Fortune's  bounteous  hand  receive 
Each  boon,  each  blessing,  m  her  power  to  give: 
Genius  and  science,  morals  and  good  sense, 
Unenvied  honors,  wit  and  eloquence, 
A  numerous  offspring  to  the  world  well  known, 
Both  for  paternal  virtues  and  their  own; 
E'en  at  this  mighty  price  I  'd  not  be  bound 
To  tread  the  same  dull  circle  round  and  round. 
The  soul  requires  enjoyments  more  sublime, 
By  space  unbounded,  undestroyed  by  time. 


THE  DYING  CHILD. 

[George  W.  Fulcher ;  died  in  Sudbury,  England,  In  1855.] 

Co.ME  closer,  closei*,  dear  mamma,   my  heart  is 

filled  with  fears. 
My  eyes  are  dark, — I  hear  your  sobs,  but  can  not 

see  your  tears. 
I  feel  your  warm  breath  on  my  lips,  that  are  so 

icy  c»ld; 
Come  closer,  closer,  dear  mamma,  give  me  your 

hand  to  hold. 
I  quite  forget  my  little  hymn,  "How  doth  the  busy 

bee." 
Which  every  day  I  used  to  say,  when  sitting  on 

your  knee. 
Nor  can  I  recollect  my  prayers ;  and,  dear  mamma, 

you  know 
That  the  great  God  will  angry  be  if  I  forget  them, 

too. 

And  dear  papa,  when  he  comes  home,  0  will  he 

not  be  vexed  ? 
"Give  us  this  day  our  daily  bread;" — what  is  it 

that  comes  next? 
Hush,  darling!  you  are  going  to  the  bright  and 

blessed  sky, 


PLEASING    AND    COMFOETING   LITEEATURE. 


15 


Where  all  God's  holy  childi-en  go,  to  live  with  him 
on  high. 

But  will  he  love  me,  dear  mamma,  as  tenderly  as 
you? 

And  will  ray  own  papa,  one  day,  come  and  live 
with  me,  too? 

But  you  must  first  lay  me  to  sleep  where  grand- 
papa is  laid; — 

Is  not  the  church-yard  cold  and  dark,  and  sha'nt 
I  feel  afraid  ? 

And  will  you  every  evening  come,  and  say  my 

pretty  prayer 
O'er  poor  Lucy's  little   grave,   and  see  that  no 

one  's  there? 
And  promise  me  that  when  you  die,  that  they 

your  grave  shall  make 
Next  unto  mine,  that  I  may  be  close  to  you  when 

I  wake  ? 
Nay,  do  not  leave  me,  dear  mamma,  your  watch 

beside  me  keep; 
My  heart  feels  cold ;  the  room 's  all  dark;  now  lay 

me  down  to  sleep: — 
And  should  I  sleep  to  wake  no  more,  dear,  dear, 

mamma,  good-by  ; 
Poor  nurse  is  kind;  but  oh!  do  you  be  with  me 

when  I  die ! 


THE  DESERTED  VILLAGE. 

OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 

[Oliver  Goldsmith  was  born  in  County  Longford,  Ireland, 
In  172.S,  tliH  .sou  of  a  poor  Irish  nirate.  No  author  in  our 
language  has  so  endpared  himself  as  ho  by  tlu-  artless  bt- 
ni^voh-nco  shown  in  his  wnrlvs,  and  Ijy  liis  lueliciw,  liouiug, 
and  softly-tiute(l style.  Washintitun  lrviiii:says  liis  writings 
"put  U3  in  good  humor  witli  ourselves  and  with  tlio  world, 
and  in  so  doing  they  make  us  happier  and  better  men."  Uiu' 
never  tires  of  the  Vicar  of  Wakefield,  nor  of  the  Deserted 
Villagn.  The  memory  of  poor  Oliver  is  endeared  to  all,  tor 
"e'en  his  failings  leaned  to  virtue's  side."  He  was  a  mere 
child  in  all  the  business  atiairs  of  life;  but  his  heart  was  as 
big  as  a  mountain.  Among  the  amusing  anecdotes,  illus- 
trating his  utter  disregard  of  himself  when  his  gynipathios 
for  the  surtering  werearouscd,  this  is  told  :  While  a  student, 
be  failed  one  morning  to  fulfill, an  appointment  to  breakl.ist 
with  a  companion.  The  latter,  thereupon,  went  to  his  room, 
and  found  Goldsmith  Immersed  to  Ids  chin  in  the  feathers. 
It  seems  he  had,  the  night  before,  met  in  the  streets  a  poor 
woman,  a  stranger,  with  five  small  children,  from  the  coun- 
try, without  food  and  destitute,  wlio  imiilored  his  charitv. 
lie  was  poor  and  penniless  himself;  but  Ije  brouirlit  her  to  the 
college  gate,  stripped  his  bed  of  its  blaoUi.-ts  and  gavelier  io 
ehelter  lier  little  ones,  and  took  oif  part  of  his  i-U.thes  for  lu-r 
to  sell  and  purchase  food.  FindiKg  himself  shivering  in  the 
night,  he  had  cut  open  the  tick  and  buried  himself  in  th" 
feathers;  aud,  destitute  of  clothes,  ho  could  not  Iwive  his 
room. J 

Sweet  Auburn!  lovliest  village  of  the  plain, 
Where  health  and  plenty  cheered  tlie  laboring 

swain, 
Where  smiling  spring  its  earliest  visit  paid, 
And  parting  summer's  lingering  blooms  delayed; 
Dear  lovely  bowers  of  innocence  and  ease, 
Seats  of  my  youth,  when  every  sport  could  please; 
IIow  often  have  I  loitered  o"cr  thy  green, 
Where  humble  happiness  endeared  each  scene! 
IIow  often  have  I  paused  on  every  charm. 


The  sheltered  cot,  the  cultivated  farm, 

The  never-failing  brook,  the  busy  mill. 

The  decent  church  that  topt  the  neiglilwring  hill; 

The  hawthorn  bush,  with  seats  beneath  the  shade, 

For  talking  age,  and  whispering  lovers  made! 

How  often  have  I  blest  the  coming  day. 

When  toil  remitting  lent  its  turn  to  play, 

And  all  the  village  train,  from  labor  free, 

Led  up  their  sports  beneath  the  spreading  tree! 

While  many  a  pastime  circled  in  the  shade, 

The  young  contending,  as  the  old  surveyed; 

And  many  a  gambol  fi'olicked  over  the  ground, 

And  sleights  of  art,  and  feats  of  strength  went 

round; 
And  still,  as  each  repeated  pleasure  tired, 
Succeeding  sports  the  mirthful  band  inspired. 
The  dancing  pair  that  simply  sought  renown, 
By  holding  oat  to  tire  each  other  doMn; 
The  swain  mistnistlcss  of  his  smutted  face, 
While  secret  laughter  tittered  round  the  place; 
The  bashful  virgin's  side-long  looks  of  love; 
The  matron's  glance,  that  would  those  looks 

reprove ; 
These  were  thy  charms,  sweet  village  !  sports  like 

these, 
With  sweet  succession  taught  e'en  toil  to  plea.se; 
These  round  thy  bowers  their  cheerful  influence 

shed. 
These  were  thy  charms — But  all  these  charms  are 

fled. 
Sweet  smiling  village,  lovliest  of  the  lawn. 
Thy  sports   are  fled,  aud  all  thy  charms  with- 
drawn; 
Amid  thy  bowers  the  tyrant's  hand  is  seen, 
And  desolation  saddens  all  thy  green; 
One  only  master  grasps  the  whole  domain, 
And  half  a  tillage  stints  the  smiling  plain; 
No  more  thy  glassy  brook  reflects  tlic  day, 
But  choked  with  sedges  works  its  weedy  way; 
Along  thy  glades,  a  solitary  guest. 
The  hollow-sounding  bittern  guards  its  nest; 
Amid  thy  desert  walks  the  lapwing  flies. 
And  tires  their  echoes  with  unvaried  cries; 
Sunk  are  thy  b'owers,  in  shapeless  ruin  all. 
And  the  long  grass  o'ertops  the  moldering  wall : 
And,   trembling,   shrinking   from  the  spoiler's 

hand. 
Far,  far  away  thy  children  leave  the  land. 

«  »  »  ■*•  * 

Sweet  Atiburn,  parent  of  the  blissful  hour, 
Thy  glades  forlorn  confess  the  tyrant's  power. 
Here  as  I  take  my  solitary  rounds. 
Amid  thy  tangled  walks, "and  ruined  grounds, 
And,  many  a  year  relapseil.  return  to  view 
AVhere  once  tlie  cottage  stood,  the  liawlhorn  grew, 
Remembrance  wakes  with  all  her  busy  train. 
Swells  at  my  breast,  and  tiirns  the  past  to  pain. 
In  all  my  wanderings  through  this  world  of 
care, 
In  all  my  griefs— and  God  has  given  my  share— 


16 


SUNDAY   BOOK    OF 


I  still  had  hopes,  my  latest  hours  to  crown, 
Amid  these  humble  bowers  to  lay  me  down ; 
To  husband  out  life's  taper  at  the  close. 
And  keep  the  flame  from  wasting  by  repose; 
I  still  had  hopes,  for  pride  attends  us  still. 
Amid  the  swains  to  show  my  book-learned 

skill; 
Around  my  tire  an  evening  group  to  draw, 
And  tell  of  all  I  felt,  and  all  I  saw; 
And,  as  a  hare  when  hounds  and  horns  pursue, 
Pants  to  the  place  from  whence  at  first  she  flew, 
I  still  had  hopes,  my  long  vexations  past, 
Here  to  return — and  die  at  home  at  last. 

Sweet  was  the  sound,  when  oft,  at  evening's  close, 
Up  yonder  hill  the  village  murmur  rose; 
There,  as  I  passed  with  cai'eless  steps  and  slow, 
The  mingled  notes  came  softened  from  below; 
The  swain  responsive  as  the  milkmaid  sung, 
The  sober  herd  that  lowed  to  meet  their  young, 
The  noisy  geese  that  gabbled  o'er  the  pool, 
The  playful  children  just  let  loose  from  school, 
The  watch-dog's  voice  that  bayed  the  whispering 

wind, 
And  the  loud  laugh  that  spake  the  vacant  mind; 
These  all  in  sweet  confusion  sought  the  shade, 
And  filled  each  pause  the  nightingale  had  made. 
But  now  the  sounds  of  population  fail, 
No  cheerful  murmurs  fluctuate  in  the  gale. 
No  busy  steps  the  grass-grown  footway  tread, 
But  all  the  blooming  flush  of  life  is  fled; 
All  but  yon  widowed,  solitary  thing. 
That  feebly  bends  beside  the  plashy  spring; 
She,  wretched  matron,  foi'ced,  in  age,  for  bread. 
To  strip  the  brook  with  mantling  cresses  spread. 
To  pick  her  Avintry  faggot  from  the  thorn, 
To  seek  her  nightly  shed,  and  weep  till  morn; 
She  only  left  of  all  the  harmless  train. 
The  sad  historian  of  the  pensive  plain. 

Near  yonder  copse,  where  once  the  garden 
smiled, 
And  still  whei-e  many  a  garden  fiower  grows  wild ; 
There,  where  a  few  torn  shrubs  the  place   dis- 
close, 
The  village  preacher's  modest  mansion  rose. 
A  man  he  was,  to  all  the  country  dear. 
And  passing  lich  with  forty  pounds  a  year, 
Remote  from  towns  he  ran  his  godly  race, 
Nor  e'er  had  changed,  nor  wished  to  change,  his 

place; 
Unskillful  he  to  fawn,  or  seek  for  power 
By  doctrines  fashioned  to  the  varying  hour; 
Far  other  aims  his  heart  had  learnt  to  prize, 
More  bent  to  raise  the  wretched  than  to  rise. 
His  house  was  known  to  all  the  vagrant  train, 
He  chid  their  wanderings,  but  relieved   their 

pain; 
The  long-remembered  beggar  was  his  guest. 
Whose  beard  descending  swept  his  aged  breast; 
The  ruined  spendthrift,  now  no  longer  proud, 


Claimed   kindred   there,    and   had   his   claims 

allowed; 
The  broken  soldier,  kindly  bid  to  stay, 
Sat  by  his  fire,  and  talked  the  night  away; 
Wept  o'er  his  wounds,  or,  tales  of  sorrow  done, 
Shouldered  his  crutch,  and  showed  how  fields  were 

won. 
Pleased  with  his  guests,  the  good  man  learned  to 

glow. 
And  quite  forgot  their  vices  in  their  woe; 
Careless  their  merits  or  their  faults  to  scan, 
His  pity  gave  ere  charity  began. 

Thus  to  relieve  the  wretched  was  his  pride, 
And  e'en  his  failings  leaned  to  virtue's  side; 
But  in  his  duty  prompt  at  every  call. 
He  watched  and  wept,  he  prayed  and  felt,  for  all. 
And,  as  a  bird  each  fond  endearment  tries. 
To  tempt  its  new-fledged  ofl'spring  to  the  skies; 
He  tried  each  art,  reproved  each  dull  delay, 
Allured  to  brighter  worlds,  and  led  the  way. 
Beside  the  bed  where  parting  life  was  laid, 
And  sorrow,  guilt,  and  pains,  by  tui'ns  dismayed, 
The  reverend  champion  stood.     At  his  control. 
Despair  and  anguish  fled  the  struggling  soul; 
Comfort  came  down  the   trembling  wretch  to 

raise. 
And  his  last  faltering  accents  whispered  praise. 

At  church  with  meek  and  unaffected  grace, 
His  looks  adorned  the  venerable  place; 
Truth  from  his  lips  prevailed  with  double  sway, 
And  fools,  who  came  to  scoif,  remained  to  pray. 
The  service  past,  around  the  pious  man, 
With  steady  zeal,  each  honest  rustic  ran; 
E'en  children  followed,  with  endearing  wile. 
And  plucked  his  gown,  to  share  the  good  man's 

smile. 
His  ready  smile  a  parent's  warmth  expressed; 
Their  welfare  pleased  him,  and  their  cares  dis- 
tressed; 
To  them  his  heart,  his  love,  his  griefs,  were  given. 
But  all  his  serious  thoughts  had  rest  in  heaven: 
As  some  tall  clifl'that  lifts  its  awful  form, 
Swells  from   the   vale,    and   midway  leaves  the 

storm, 
Though  round  its  breast  the  rolling  clouds  are 

spread, 
Eternal  sunshine  settles  on  its  head. 

Beside  yon  straggling  fence  that  skirts  the  way, 
AVith  blossomed  furze  unprofitably  gay, 
There,  in  his  noisy  mansion  skilled  to  rule. 
The  village  master  taught  his  little  school; 
A  man  severe  he  was,  and  stern  to  view, 
I  knew  him  well,  and  every  truant  knew. 
Well  had  the  boding  tremblers  learned  to  traoe 
The  day's  disasters  in  his  morning  face: 
Full  well  they  laughed  with  counterfeited  glee, 
At  all  his  jokes,  for  many  a  joke  had  he: 
Full  well  the  busy  whisper,  circling  round. 
Conveyed  the  dismal  tidings  when  he  frowned; 
Yet  he  was  kind,  or  if  severe  in  aught, 


PLEASING   AND    COMFORTING   LITEEATUEE. 


17 


The  love  he  bore  to  learning  was  in  fault: 
The  village  all  declared  how  much  he  knew; 
'Twas  certain  he  could  write  and  cipher  too; 
Lands  he  could  measure,  terms  and  tides  presage, 
And  e'en  the  story  ran  that  he  could  gauge; 
in  arguing,  too,  the  parson  owned  his  skill, 
For  e'en  though  vanquished,  he  could  argue  still; 
While  words  of  leai-ned  length,  and  thundering 

sound, 
Amazed  the  gazing  rustics  ranged  around, 
And  still  they  gazed,  and  still  the  wonder  grew, 
That  one  small  head  should  carry  all  he  knew. 
But  past  is  all  his  fame.     The  very  spot 
Where  many  a  time  he  triumphed,  is  forgot. 

Near  yonder  thorn,  that  lifts  its  head  so  high. 
Where  once  the  signpost  caught  the  passing  eye. 
Low  lies  that  house  where  nut-brown  draughts 

inspired. 
Where  gray-beard  mirth,  and  smiling  toil,  retired; 
Where  village  statesmen  talked  with  looks  pro- 
found, 
And  news  much  older  than  their  ale  went  round. 
Imagination  fondly  stoops  to  trace. 
The  parlor-splendors  of  that  festive  place; 
The  white-washed  wall,  the  nicely  sanded  floor. 
The  varnished  clock  that  clicked  behind  the  door; 
The  chest,  contrived  a  double  debt  to  pay, 
A  bed  by  night,  a  chest  of  drawers  by  day; 
The  pictures  placed  for  ornament  and  use, 
The  twelve  good  rules,  the  royal  game  of  goose; 
The  hearth,  except  when  winter  chilled  tlie  day, 
AVith  aspen  boughs,  and  flowers,  and  fennel  gay, 
While  broken  tea-cups,  wisely  kept  for  show, 
Ranged  o'er  the  chimney,  glistened  in  a  row. 

Good  Heaven!  what  sorrows  gloomed  that  parting 

day, 
That  called  them  from  their  native  walks  away; 
AVhen  the  poor  exiles,  every  pleasure  past. 
Hung  round  the  bowers,  and  fondly  looked  their 

last. 
And  took  a  long  farewell,  and  wished  in  vain, 
For  seats  like  these  beyond  the  western  main; 
And  shuddering  still  to  face  the  distant  deep, 
Returned  and  wept,  and  still  return  to  weep  1 
The  good  old  sire,  the  first  prepared  to  go, 
To  new  found  worlds,  and  wept  for  others'  woe; 
But  for  himself,  in  conscious  virtue  brave, 
He  only  wished  for  worlds  beyond  the  grave. 
His  lovely  daughter,  lovlier  in  her  tears. 
The  fond  companion  of  his  helpless  years, 
Silent  went  next,  neglectful  of  her  cliarms, 
And  left  a  lover's  for  a  father's  arms. 
With  louder  plaints  the  mother  spoke  her  woes. 
And  blessed  the  cot  wliere  every  pleasure  rose; 
And  kissed  her  thoughtless  babes  with  many  a 

tear, 
And  clasped  them  close,  in  sorrow  doubly  dear; 
While  her  fond  husband  strove  to  lend  relief, 
In  all  the  silent  manliness  of  grief. 


Even  now  the  devastation  is  begun, 
And'haif  the  business  of  destruction  done; 
Even  now,  methinks,  as  pondering  here  I  s'and, 
I  see  the  rural  virtues  leave  the  land. 
Down  where  yon  anchoring  vessel   spreads  the 

sail. 
That  idly  waiting  flaps  with  every  gale. 
Downward  they  move,  a  melancholy  band  I 
Pass  from  the  shore,  and  darken  all  the  strand. 


SWEETNESS  OF  NIGHT. 

[Nathaniel  Cotton,  an  Kiislisli   r"ft  of  the  last  ccntnrr, 
ami  trieud  of  Cowper.J 

How  sweet  these  sacred  hours  of  rest, 
Fair  portraits  of  the  .virtuous  breast, 
Where  hiwlcss  lust,  and  ])assion  rude, 
And  folly  never  dare  intrude  ! 

Be  others'  choice  the  sparkling  bowl; 
And  mirth,  the  poison  of  the  soul  ; 
Or  midnight  dance,  and  public  shows, 
Parents  of  sickness,  pains,  and  woes: 

A  nobler  joy  my  thoughts  design; 
Instructive  solitude  be  mine: 
Be  mine  that  silent  calm  repast, 
A  cheerful  conscience  to  the  last. 


UNIVERSAL  PRATEE. 

[Alexander  Tope,  bora  in  liW;  died  in  \7U.] 

Father  of  all !  in  every  age, 

In  every  clime  adored. 
By  saint,  by  savage,  and  b}'  sago, 
"Jehovah,  Jove,  or  Lord  ! 

Thou  great  First  Cause,  least  understood, 

Who  all  my  sense  confined 
To  know  but  this— that  Ihou  art  good, 

And  lliat  myself  am  blind: 

Yet  gave  me,  in  this  dark  estate, 

To  sec  the  good  from  ill  ; 
And,  binding  nature  iast  in  fixtc, 

Left  free  the  human  will. 

What  conscience  dictates  to  be  done, 

Or  warns  me  not  to  do, 
This,  teach  me  more  than  ITell  to  shun, 

That,  more  than  Heaven  pursue. 


SUNDAY   BOOK    OF 


What  blessings  thy  free  bounty  gives, 

Let  me  not  east  away ; 
For  Cxod  is  paid  when  man  receives; 

To  enjoy  is  to  obey. 

Yet  not  to  Earth's  contracted  span 
Thy  goodness  let  me  bound; 

Or  thinlc  thee  Lord  alone  of  man, 
When  thousand  worlds  are  round. 

Let  not  this  weak  unknowing  hand 
Presume  thy  bolts  to  throw, 

And  deal  damnation  round  the  land 
On  each  I  judge  thy  foe. 

If  I  am  right,  thy  grace  impart, 

Still  in  the  right  to  stay; 
If  I  am  wrong,  O  !  teach  my  heart 

To  find  that  better  way  ! 

Save  me  alike  from  foolish  pride, 

And  impious  discontent 
At  aught  thy  wisdom  has  denied, 

Or  aught  thy  goodness  lent. 

Teach  me  to  feel  another's  woe, 

To  hide  the  fault  I  see; 
That  mercy  I  to  others  show, 

That  mercy  show  to  me. 

Mean  though  I  am,  not  wholly  so. 
Since  quickened  by  thy  breath: 

O  lead  me,  whercso'er  I  go, 

Through  this  day's  life  or  death  ! 

This  day  be  bread  and  peace  my  lot: 

x\ll  else  beneath  the  sun 
Thou  know'st  if  best  bestowed  or  not. 

And  let  thy  will  be  done. 

To  thee,  whose  temple  is  all  space, 
Whose  altar  earth,  sea,  skies. 

One  chorus  let  all  beings  raise! 
All  nature's  incense  rise ! 


A  THOUGHT  ON  ETERNITY. 
[John  Gay;  born  in  16S3;  died  in  1782.] 

Ere  the  foundations  of  the  world  were  laid, 
Ere  kindling  light  the  Almighty  word  obeyed, 
Tliou  wert;   and  when  the  subterraneous  flame, 
Shall  burst  its  prison,  and  devour  this  frame, 


From  angry  heaven  when  the  keen  lightning  flies, 
When  fervent  heat  dissolves  the  melting  skies, 
Thou  still  shalt  be;  still  as  thou  wert  before, 
And  know  no  change,  when  time  shall  be  no 
more. 


THE  DIVINE  GOODNESS  APPAEENT  IN  THE 
ADAPTATION  OF  THE  EAETH  TO  MAN. 


OLtVEE  GOLDSMITH. 


The  universe  may  be  considered  as  the 
palace  in  which  th«  Deity  resides,  and 
the  earth  as  one  of  its  apartments.  In 
this  all  the  meaner  races  of  animated 
nature  mechanically  obey  him,  and  stand 
ready  to  execute  his  commands  without 
hesitation.  Man  alone  is  found  refrac- 
tory ;  he  is  the  onl}'  being  endued  with 
the  power  of  contradicting  these  man- 
dates. The  Deity  was  pleased  to  exert 
superior  power  in  creating  him  a  superior 
being — a  being  endued  with  a  choice  of 
good'and  evil,  and  capable,  in  some  meas- 
ure, of  cooperating  with  his  own  inten- 
tions. Man,  therefore,  may  be  consid- 
ered as  a  limited  creature,  endued  with 
powers  imitative  of  those  residing  in  the 
Deity.  Ho  is  tlu'own  into  a  world  that 
standsinneedof  his  help;  and  he  has  been 
granted  a  power  of  producing  harmony 
from  partial  confusion. 

If,  therefore,  we  consider  tne  earth  as 
alloted  for  our  habitation,  we  shall  find 
that  much  has  been  given  us  to  enjoy, 
and  much  to  amend  ;  that  we  have  ample 
reasons  for  gratitude,  and  many  for  our 
industr}^.  In  those  great  outlines  of  na- 
ture, to  which  art  can  not  reach,  and 
Avhereour  greatest  efforts  must  have  been 
ineffectual,  God  himself  has  finished 
every  thing  with  amazing  grandeur  and 
beauty.  Our  beneficent  Father  has  con- 
sidered these  parts  of  nature  as  peculiarly 
his  own ;  as  parts  which  no  creature  could 
have  skill  or  strength  to  amend ;  and  he 
has,  therefore,  made  them  incapable  of 
alteration,  or  of  more  perfect  regularity. 
The  heavens  and  the  firmament  show 
the  wisdom  and  glory  of  the  workman. 
Astronomers,  who  ore  best  skilled  in  the 
symmetry  of  systems,  can  find  nothing 


PLEASING   AND    COMFOKTING    LITEEATUEE. 


19 


there  that  they  can  alter  for  the  better. 
God  made  these  perfect,  because  no  sub- 
ordinate being  could  correct  their  de- 
fects. 

When,  therefore,  we  survey  nature  on 
this  side,  nothing  can  be  more  spk^ndid, 
more  correct,  or  amazing.  We  there  be- 
hold a  Deity  residing  in  the  midst  of  an 
universe,  infinitely  extended  every  way, 
animating  all,  and  cheering  the  vacuity 
with  his  presence !  We  behold  an  im- 
mense and  shapeless  mass  of  matter, 
formed  into  worlds  by  his  power,  and  dis- 
persed at  intervals,  to  which  even  the 
imagination  can  not  travel !  In  this  great 
theater  of  his  glory,  a  thousand  suns, 
like  our  own,  animate  their  respective 
systems,  appearing  and  vanishing  at  di- 
vine command.  \Ye  behold  our  own 
bright  luminary,  fixed  in  the  center  of 
its  system,  wheeling  its  planets  in  times 
proportioned  to  their  distances,  and  at 
once  dispensing  light,  heat,  and  action. 
The  earth  also  is  seen  with  its  two-fold 
motion;  producing,  by  the  one,  the 
change  of  seasons ;  and,  by  the  other,  the 
grateful  vicissitudes  of  day  and  night. 
AVith  what  silent  magnificence  is  all  this 
performed!  with  what  seeming  ease! 
The  Avorks  of  art  ai-e  exerted  with  in- 
terrupted force ;  and  their  noisj'  progress 
discovers  the  obstructions  tho}^  receive ; 
but  the  earth,  with  a  silent,  steady  rota- 
tion, successively  presents  every  part  of 
its  bosom  to  the  sun,  at  once  imbibing 
nourishment  and  light  from  that  parent 
of  vegetation  and  fertilit3^ 

But  not  only  provisions  of  heat  and 
light  are  thus  supplied,  the  whole  sur- 
face of  the  earth  is  covered  with  a  trans- 
parent atmosphere,  that  turns  with  its 
motion,  and  guards  it  from  external  in- 
jury. The  rays  of  the  sun  are  thus 
broken  into  a  genial  Avarmth  ;  and,  while 
the  surface  is  assisted,  a  gentle  heat  is 
produced  in  the  bowels  of  the  earth, 
which  contributes  to  cover  it  Avith  ver- 
dure. Waters  also  are  supplied  in  healtli- 
fal  abundance,  to  support  life,  and  assist 
vegetation.    Mountains  rise,  to  diversify 


the  prospect,  and  give  a  current  to  the 
stream.  Seas  extend  from  one  continent 
to  the  other,  replenished  Avith  animals 
that  may  he  turned  to  human  support ; 
and  also  serving  to  enrich  the  earth  Avith 
a  sufficiency  of  A'apor.  Breezes  fl}-  along 
the  surface  of  the  fields,  to  promote  health 
and  vegetation.  The  coolness  of  the 
evening  invites  to  rest;  and  the  fresh- 
ness of  the  morning  rencAvs  for  labor. 

Such  are  the  delights  of  the  habitation 
that  has  been  assigned  to  man;  Avithout 
any  one  of  these,  he  must  have  been 
AA'retched ;  and  none  of  these  could  his 
OAvn  industry  have  supplied.  But.  AvhiUi 
many  of  his  Avants  are  thus  kindly  fur- 
nished, on  the  one  hand,  there  are  num- 
berless inconveniences  to  excite  his  in- 
dustry, on  the  other.  This  habitation, 
though  prOA'ided  Avith  all  the  conven- 
iences of  air,  pasturage,  and  Avater,  in  but 
a  desert  place  without  human  cultiva- 
tion. The  lowest  animal  finds  morecon- 
A'eniences  in  the  Avilds  of  nature  than  he 
Avho  boasts  himself  their  lord.  The 
Avhirhvind,  the  inundation,  and  all  the 
asperities  of  the  air,  are  peculiarly  ter- 
rible to  man,  who  knows  their  conse- 
quences, and,  at  a  distance,  dreads  their 
npproach.  The  earth  itself,  Avhere  hu- 
man art  has  not  pervaded,  puts  on  a 
frightful,  gloomy  appearance.  The  for- 
ests are  dark  and  tangled  ;  the  meadoAvs 
are  OA'crgroAvn  Avith  rank  Avecds,  and  the 
brooks  stray  Avithout  a  determined  chan- 
nel. Nature,  that  has  been  kind  to  every 
loAver  order  of  beings,  seems  to  haA'c  been 
neglectful  Avith  regard  to  him ;  to  the 
saA'age  uncontriA'ing  man,  the  earth  is 
an  abode  of  desolation,  Avhcre  his  shelter 
is  insufficient,  and  his  food  precarious. 

A  Avorld,  thus  furnished  AAMth  advan- 
tages on  one  side,  an<l  inconveniences  on 
the  other,  is  the  proper  abode  of  reason, 
and  the  fittest  to  exercise  the  industry 
of  a  free  and  a  thinking  creature.  These 
evils,  Avhich  art  can  remedy,  and  pre- 
science guard  against,  are  a  proper  call 
for  the  exertion  of  his  faculties  ;  and  thoy 
tend  still  more  to  assimilate  him  to  his 


20 


SUNDAY    BOOK    OF 


Creator.  G-od  beholds,  with  pleasure, 
that  being  which  he  has  made,  convert- 
ing the  wretchedness  of  his  natural  sit- 
uation into  a  theater  of  triumph;  bring- 
ing all  the  headlong  tribes  of  nature  into 
subjection  to  his  will,  and  producing  that 
order  and  uniformity  upon  earth,  of 
which  his  own  heavenly  fabric  is  so 
bright  an  example. 


BEAUTIES  FEOM  WILLIS. 

fA  little  boy  of  nine  years  of  age,  one  day  in  early  au- 
tumn, stood  uiidtT  the  leafy  Klia<lows  of  tlie  proudly -arcliiiig 
elms  on  tlie  green  at  N«w  Haven,  watching  a  joyous  group 
of  students  of  Yale  playing  ball.  One  of  tliein,  whom  lie 
Uien  saw. for  the  first  time,  from  his  graceful,  aerial  like 
beauty  of  person,  so  struck  the  child  with  a  sense  of  admira- 
tion, that  now,  alter  the  lapse  of  forty  years,  it  remains  a 
pleasant  visicui  in  the  memory  of  the  man.  Tlie  student 
was  N.  I'.  Willis,  then  a  tall,  slender,  blue-eyed  youth,  with 
sunny  flowing  curls,  mild  and  gentle  expression,  and  a  com- 
plexion soft  and  delicate  as  a  girl's.  The  ex(|uisite  aroma  of 
his  sacred  poems  can  but  touch  and  comfort  (Jhristiau 
hearts. J 

Christ's  entrance  into  Jerusalem 

He  sat  upon  the  "ass's  foal  and  rode 
On  to  Jerusalem.     Beside  hira  walked, 
Closely  and  silently,  the  faithful  twelve: 
And  on  before  him  went  a  multitude, 
Shouting  hosannas,  and  with  eager  hands, 
Strewing  their  garments  thickly  on  his  way. 
Th'  unbroken  foal  beneath  liim  gently  stepped, 
Tame  as  its  patient  dam;  and  as  the  song 
Of  "welcome  to  the  Son  of  David"  burst 
Forth  from  a  thousand  children,  and  the  leaves 
Of  the  waved  branches  touched  its  silken  ears, 
]t  turned  its  wild  eye  for  a  moment  back, 
And  then,  subdued  by  an  invisible  hand. 
Meekly  trode  onward  with  its  slender  feet. 

The  dew's  last  sparkle  from  the  grass  had 

gone. 
As  he  rode  up  Mount  Olivet.     The  woods 
Threw  their  cool  shadows  freshly  to  the  west; 
And  the  light  tbal,  with  quick  and  toiling  step, 
And  liead  bent  low,  kept  its  unslackened  way. 
Till  its  soft  mane  was  lifted  by  the  wind 
Sent  o'er  the  Mount  from  Jordan.      As  he 

reached 
The  summit's  breezy  pitch,  the  Savior  raised 
Ili.s  calm  blue  eye — thei'e  stood  Jerusalem! 
Eagerly  lie  bent  forward,  and  beneath 
His  mantle's  passive  folds,  a  bolder  line 
Than  the  wont  slightness  of  his  perfect  limbs 
Betrayed  the  swelling  fullness  of  his  heart. 
There  stood  Jerusalem  !    How  fair  she  looked — 
The  silver  sun  on  all  her  palaces, 


And  her  fair  daughters  'mid  the  golden  spires, 
Tending   their  terrace   flowers;    and  Kedron'a 

stream 
Lacing  the  meadows  with  its  silvery  band, 
And  wreathing  its  mist-mantle  on  the  sky 
With   the  morn's   e.xhalations.     There  she 

stood — 
Jerusalem — the  city  of  his  love. 
Chosen  from  all  the  earth  ;  Jerusalem — 
That  knew  him  not,  and  had  rejected  him; 
Jerusalem — for  whom  he  came  to  die! 
The  shouts  redoubled  from  a  thousand  lips 
At  the  fair  sight;  the  children  leaped  and  sang 
Louder  hosannas;  the  clear  air  was  filled 
With  odor  from  the  trampled  olive-leaves — 
But  "Jesus  wept."     The  loved  disciple  saw 
His  master's  tears,  and  closer  to  his  side 
He  came  with  yearning  looks,  and  on  his  neck 
The  Savior  leant  with  heavenly  tenderness. 
And  mourned — How  oft,  Jerusalem  !  would  I 
Have  gathered  you,  as  gathereth  a  hen 
Her  brood  beneath  her  wings — but  ye  would 

not! 

He  thought  not  of  the  death  that  he  should 

die — 
He  thought  not  of  the  thorns  he  knew  must 

pierce 
His  forehead — of  the  buffet  on  his  cheek — 
The  scourge,  the  mocking  homage,  the  foul 

scorn  ! 
Gethsemane  stood  out  beneath  his  eye 
Clear  in  the  morning  sun,  and  there,  he  knew, 
While  they  who  "could  not  watch  with  him 

one  hour" 
Were  sleeping,  he  should  sweat  great  drops  of 

blood. 
Praying  the  "  cup  might  pass."     And  Golgotha 
Stood  bare  and  desert  by  the  city  wall, 
And  in  its  midst,  to  his  prophetic  eye. 
Rose  the  rough  cross,  and  its  keen  agonies 
Were  numbered  all :   the  nails  were  in  his 

feet— 
Th'  insulting  sponge  was  pressing  on  liis  lips— « 
The  blood  and  water  gushing  from  his  side — 
The  dizzy  faintness  swimming  in  liis  brain-— 
And,  while  his  own  disciples  fled  in  fear, 
A  world's  death-agonies  all  mixed  in  his! 
Ay!  he  forgot  alTthis.      He  only  saw 
Jerusalem — the  chosen,  the  loved,  the  lost! 
He  only  felt  that  for  her  sake  his  life 
Was  vamly  given,  and,  in  his  pitying  love. 
The  sufferings  that  would  clothe  the  heaven's 

in  black, 
Were  quite  forgotten.     Was  there  ever  love, 
In  earth  or  heaven,  equal  unto  this? 


PLEASING    AND    COMFOETING   LITERaTUEE. 


21 


HUMAN    LOVE. 

On,  if  there  is  one  law  above  the  rest 
Written  in  reason — if  there  is  a  word 
That  1  would  trace  as  with  a  pen  of  fire, 
Upon  the  unsunned  temper  of  a  child — 
If  there  is  any  thing  that  keeps  the  mind 
Open  to  angel  visits,  and  repels 
The  ministry  of  ill— 'tis  human  love  ! 
God  lias  made  nothing  worthy  of  contempt 
The  smallest  pebble  in  the  wall  of  truth 
Has  its  peculiar  meaning,  and  will  stand 
When  man's  best  monuments  have  passed 

away. 
The  law^  of  heaven  is  love;  and  though  its 

name 
Has  been  usurped  by  passion,  and  profaned 
To  its  unholy  uses  through  all  time; 
Still,  the  eternal  principle  is  pure; 
And  in  these  deep  affections  that  we  feel. 
Omnipotent  w'thin  us,  we  but  see 
The  lavish  measure  in  which  love  is  given 
And  in  the  yearning  tenderness  of  a  child, 
Vox  every  bird  that  sings  above  his  head. 
And  every  creature  feeding  on  the  hills, 
A.nd  every  tree,  and  flower,  and  running  brook, 
We  see  how  every  thing  was  made  to  love. 
And  how  they  err,  who,  in  a  world  like  this, 
Find  any  thing  to  hate  but  human  pride! 

THE   PLEASANT    PATH    IN    LIFE, 

There  is  a  softer  winding  path  through  life. 

And  man  may  walk  it  with  utiruHied  soul, 

And  drink  its  wayside  waters  till  his  heart 

Is  stilled  with  its  o'erflowing  happiness. 

The  chart  by  which  to  traverse  it  is  writ 

In  the  broad  book  of  nature.     'Tis  to  have 

Attentive  and  believing  faculties; 

To  go  abroad  rejoicing  in  the  joy 

Of  beautiful  and  well-created  things; 

To  love  the  voice  of  waters  and  the  sheen 

Of  silver  fountains  leaping  to  the  sea; 

To  thrill  with  the  rich  melody  of  birds, 

Living  their  life  of  music;   to  be  glad 

In  the  gay  sunshine,  reverent  in  the  storm; 

To  see  a  beauty  in  the  stirring  leaf, 

And  find  calm  thoughts  beneath  the  whispering 

tree ; 
To  see,  and  hear,  and  breathe  the  evidence 
Of  God's  deep  wisdom  in  the  natural  world! 
It  is  to  linger  on  "the  magic  face 
Of  human  beauty,"  and  from  light  and  shade 
Alike  to  draw  a  lesson  ;  'tis  to  know 
The  evidences  of  voices  that  are  tuned 
By  majesty  and  purity  of  thought; 
To  gaze  on  woman's  beauty  as  a  star 
Whose  purity  and  distance  make  it  fair; 
29 


And  from  the  spell  of  music  to  awake, 

And  feel  that  it  has  purified  the  heart! 

It  is  to  love  all  virtue,  like  the  light, 

Dear  to  the  soul  as  sunshine  to  the  eye, 

And  when  the  senses  and  the  mind  are  filled, 

Like  wells  from  these  involuntary  s]iring.s. 

It  is  to  calm  the  trembling  depths  with  praver, 

That  it  may  be  but  a  reflected  heaven. 

CONTEMPLATION. 

"  They  are  all  up — the  innumerable  stars — 
And  hold  their  place  in  heaven.    My  eyes  have 

been 
Searching   the  pearly  depths   through   which 

they  S])ring 
Like  beautiful  creations,  till  I  feel 
As  if  it  were  a  new  and  perfect  world, 
^Vaiting  in  silence  for  the  word  of  God 
To  breathe  into  motion.     There  they  stand 
Shining  in  order,  like  a  living  hymn 
Written  in  light,  awaking  at  the  breath 
Of  the  celestial  dawn,  and  praising  him 
Who  made  them  with  the  harmony  of  sj)here8. 
I  would  I  had  a!i  angel's  ear  to  li.-^t 
That  melody.      1  would  1  might  float 
LTp  in  that  boundless  element,  and  feel 
Its  ravishing  vibrations,  like  the  pulse 
Beating  in  heaven  !     My  spirit  is  athirst 
For  music — rarer  music!     I  would  bathe 
My  soul  in  a  serener  atmosphere 
Than  this;  I  long  to  mingle  with  the  flock 
Led  by  the  'living  waters,   and  to  stray 
In  the  'green  pastures    of  the  better  land! 
When  wilt  thou  break,  dull  fetter?     When 

shall  I 
Gather  my  wings,  and  like  a  rushing  thought 
Stretch  onward,  star  by  star  up  into  heaven?" 

CHILDHOOD. 

Who  could  paint 
The  young  and  shadowless  spirit  ?    Who  could 

chain 
The  sparkling  gladness  of  a  heart  that  lives, 
Like  a  glad  fountain,  in  tlie  eye  of  ligiit. 
With  an  unbreatiiing  pencil?     Nature's  gilt 
Has  nothing  that  is  like  it.     Sun  and  stream, 
And  the  new  leaves  of  June,  and  the  young 

lark 
That  flees  away  into  the  depths  of  heaven, 
Lost  in  his  own  wild  music,  and  the  breatli 
Of  spring  time,  and  the  summer  eve,  and  noon 
In  the  cool  autumn,  are  like  fingers  swept 
Over  sweet-toned  afl'ections — but  the  joy 
That  enters  to  the  spirit  of  a  child 
Is  deep  as  his  young  heart:  his  very  breath, 
The  simple  sense  of  being,  is  enough 


su:n'day  book  of 


To  ravish  him,  and  like  a  thrilling  touch 
He  feels  each  moment  of  his  life  go  by. 

Beautiful,  beautiful  childhood!  with  a  joy 
That  like  a  robe  is  palpable,  and  flung 
Out  by  your  every  motion  !  delicate  bud 
Of  the  immortal  flower  that  will  unfold 
And  come  to  its  maturity  in  heaven! 
I  weep  your  earthly  glory.     'Tis  a  light 
Sent  to  the  new  born  spirit,  that  goes  out 
With  the  first  idle  wind.     It  is  the  leaf 
Freshly  flung  upon  the  river,  that  will  dance 
Upon  the  wave  that  etealeth  out  its  light, 
Then  sink  of  its  own  heaviness.     The  face 
Of  the  delightful  earth  will  to  your  eye 
Grow  dim  ;  the  fragrance  of  the  many  flowers 
Be  noticed  not,  and  the  beguiling  voice 
Of  nature  in  her  gentleness  will  be 
To  manhood's  senseless  ear  inaudible. 


INTESESTIKG  INFORMATION  IN  REGARD  TO 
THE  BIBLE. 

Moses  was  the  earliest  of  the  sacred 
writers.  Genesis  and  Job  appear  to  have 
been  compiled  by  him  when  an  exile  from 
Egypt,  during  his  forty  years'  residence 
at  Midian.  They  were  probably  sketched 
in  hyerogliphical  characters,  and  writ- 
ten oiit  for  the  use  of  the  people,  while 
he  was  emploj^ed  to  lead  and  instruct  the 
Israelites  during  forty  years,  in  the  des- 
erts of  Arabia.  Exodus,  Levi  ticus,  Num- 
bers, and  Deuteronomy  were  written  by 
Moses  some  time  time  before  the  close 
of  his  extraordinary  ministrj-,  A.  M.  2453, 
B.  C.  1551,  for  the  instruction  of  the  Isra- 
elites in  their  obedience  to  God,  and  for 
the  regulation  of  their  civil,  judicial,  and 
religious  affairs.  Some  few  additions 
were  made  to  the  five  books  of  Moses 
after  his  death,  especially  the  last  chap- 
ter of  Deuteronomy,  probably  b}' Joshua 
or  by  Samuel.  Moses,  though  "learned 
in  all  the  wisdom  of  the  Egyptians" 
(Acts  vii.  22),  did  not  acquire  from  that 
people  the  art  of  alphabetical  writing ; 
neither  was  it  an  invention  of  his  own 
ingenuity.  Various  expedients  have  been 
devised  to  solve  the  difficulties  with  which 
the  subject  is  involved — by  some  letters 
are  supposed  to  have  been  a  merel}^  hu- 
man invention,  ingeniously  contrived  to 


facilitate  the-  invaluable  purposes  of  com- 
merce ;  many  of  the  heathen  considered 
letters  to  have  been  the  gift  of  their 
imaginary  gods  ;  but  Christian  and  Jew- 
ish authors  of  the  greatest  judgment  be- 
lieve that  letters  were  given  to  Moses  by 
the  immediate  inspiration  of  Jehovah, 
the  true  God. 

Joshua  wrote  the  former  part  of  the 
book  bearing  his  name,  which  Samuel 
completed;  that  venerable  prophet  com- 
piled the  books  of  Judges  and  Euth,  and 
commenced  the  first  book  of  Samuel,  the 
latter  part  of  which  and  the  second  book 
were  written  by  his  successors  in  the 
prophetical  office,  probably  by  Nathan 
and  Gad.  The  books  of  Kings  and 
Chronicles  are  compilations  from  the 
national  records,  by  varioiis  prophets  and 
scribes,  and  from  the  public  genealogical 
tables,  made' or  completed  by  Ezra,  on  the 
return  of  the  Jews  from  Babylon.  Ezra 
and  Nehemiah  are  historical  collections 
from  similar  records,  some  of  which  were 
originally  written  by  themselves.  Es- 
ther was  written  by  some  distinguished 
Jew,  perhaps  Mordecai,  though  some 
conjecture  that  it  was  composed  by  Ezra. 
The  Psalms  were  written  mostly  by 
David,  some  by  Asaph,  Moses,  and  other 
pious  persons,  all,  or  most  of  the  book 
of  Proverbs,  the  Song  of  Solomon,  and 
the  book  of  Ecclesiastes,  by  King  Solo- 
mon ;  the  latter  book  was  composed  when 
that  prosperous  king,  toward  the  latter 
end  of  his  life,  had  been  led  to  reflect 
upon  the  vanity  of  all  human  gratifica- 
tions, and  to  repent  of  his  foolish  and 
criminal  idolatry;  his  penitence,  and  his 
writings  were  influenced  by  the  grace  of 
the  Holy  Spirit. 

Isaiah,  Jeremiah,  with  the  book  of 
Lamentations,  Ezekiel,  and  the  other 
books  of  the  prophets,  were  written  by 
the  several  holy  men  whose  names  they 
bear,  on  occasions  arising  from  their  con- 
nection with  the  succeeding  ages,  as  fore- 
appointed  by  the  infinite  wisdom  of  God. 
Ezra  labored  in  revising  the  sacred  books, 
aided  by  the  Great  Synagogue,  consist- 


PLEASING   AIs^D    COMFOETIiN^G   LITERATURE, 


•23 


ing  of  one  hundred  and  twenty  of  the  elders, 
by  whom  the  Jewish  church  was  restored 
and  reformed.  "Simon  the  Just,"  who 
died  in  the  year  292  B.  C,  was  the  last  of 
them,  a  man  of  extraordinary  wisdom 
and  holiness  ;  he  is  believed  to  have  made 
the  last  revision  of  the  Old  Testament, 
completing  the  sacred  canon,  by  adding 
the  books  of  Esther  and  Malachi. 

Matthew,  Mark,  Luke,  and  John,  the 
four  Gospels,  were  written  by  the  evan- 
gelists whose  names  they  bear.  Matthew 
and  John  were  Apostles  of  Christ,  and 
his  personal  attendants ;  Mark  and  Luke 
were  intimately  acquainted  with  some  of 
the  apostles,  and  the  latter  was  a  fellow- 
laborer  and  companion  of  Paul.  Luke 
was  also  the  writer  of  the  Acts  of  the 
Apostles.  Romans  and  other  books  of 
the  New  Testament  were  written  by  the 
apostles  to  whom  they  are  inscribed, 
there  being  the  most  satisfiictory  evi- 
dence that  Hebrews  was  written  by  the 
apostle  Paul,  although  it  does  not  bear 
his  name,  and  that  the  apostle  John  was 
the  author  of  the  book  of  Revelation. 

Readers  of  the  Scriptures  should  know 
that  the  divisions  of  the  sacred  books  into 
chapters  and  verses  were  human  inven- 
tions, adopted  for  the  convenience  of 
reading  and  reference,  and  not  an  ar- 
rangement made  by  the  Divine  inspira- 
tion. This  consideration  may  relieve  the 
mind  from  a  measure  of  difficulty  in  rehi- 
tion  to  some  of  the  divisions,  which  inter- 
rupt the  sense  and  obscure  the  meaning 
of  the  writer. 

Both  parts  of  the  sacred  volume  in- 
clude sixty-six  distinct  books — thirty- 
nine  in  tlie  Old  Testament,  and  twenty- 
seven  in  the  New  Testament.  Those  in 
the  former  were  classed  b}*  the  ancient 
Jews  in  three  divisions:  L  The  Law;  11. 
The  Prophets;  IIL  The  Holy  Writings— 
in  Hebrew,  Ivethubim;  in  Greek,  Ilagio- 
grapha. 

"The  Law"  comprised  the  five  books 
of  Moses,  and  Avas  called,  as  before  re- 
marked, the  Pentateuch.  "The  Proph- 
ets" comprehended  the  books  of  Joshua, 


Judges,  Samuel,  and  the  Kings,  which 
were  called  "  the  Former  Prophets;"  and 
Isaiah,  Jeremiah,  Ezekiel,  and  the  twelve 
minor  prophetic  books,  from  Hosea  to 
Malachi,  which  were  denominated  "the 
Latter  Prophets."  "The  Hol}^  Writings"' 
included  the  books  of  Psalms,  Proverbs- 
Job,  Solomon's  Song,  Ruth,  Lamenta- 
tions, Ecclesiastes,  Esther,  Daniel,  Ezra, 
Nehemiah,  and  the  Chronicles.  Slight 
ditferences  from  this  plan,  but  not  of  any 
importance,  were  made  by  some  of  the 
learned  Jews  in  their  numbering  and  ar- 
rangement of  the  sacred  books  of  the 
Old  Testament. 

Originally,  and  for  a  long  period,  the 
sacred  writings  had  no  marks  of  punc- 
tuation. As  was  the  case  in  all  profane 
writings,  the  words  were  not  separated 
from  each  other,  but  letter  followed  letter, 
as  if  every  line  were  only  a  single  word  ; 
a  reader  had,  therefore,  extreme  diffi- 
culty, as  he  was  obliged,  mentally,  to 
separate  and  combine  the  letters,  so  as 
to  form  the  words,  before  he  could  per- 
ceive the  sense  of  the  writer ;  and  this 
was  the  case  so  late  as  the  fourth  cen- 
tury with  the  writings  of  the  New  Testa- 
ment. 

Public  reading  rendered  some  punc- 
tuation indispensable  ;  and  hence  many 
believe  that  it  was  commenced  by  Ezra, 
and  greatly  extended  by  the  Jewish  Ma- 
sorites,  or  Avriters  of  tradition,  to  the 
foui'th  or  fifth  centuiy,  whose  notes  and 
criticisms  relate  to  the  books,  verses, 
words,  letters,  vowel -points,  and  accents 
of  the  Old  Testament. 

The  book  of  Psalms  was  always  di- 
vided into  its  distinct  compositions,  as  is 
evident  from  its  several  pieces,  and  from 
reference  found  in  the  New  Testament ; 
but  originally  no  divisions  are  believed 
to  have  existed  in  any  other  of  the  sacred 
books. 

The  following  calculations  in  regard 
to  the  contents  of  the  Bible  were  pub- 
lished by  an  anonymous  writer  of  the 
last  century,  the  fruit,  it  is  said,  of  three 
years'  labor : 


L'4 


SUNDAY   BOOK    OF 


l.i  the  Old  Testament.  In  the  Neia  Testament.  Total. 

Books 39                          27  f.S 

Chapters 929                        2iiO  1,189 

Verses 23,214                       7,'.l.">9  31,173 

Words .W2,439                   lSl,2r>3  773,fiy2 

Letters 2,72>,1IK)                  SSd.SSO  3,566,480 

APOCRYPHA. 

Chapters,  133"  Verses,  6,ftSl  Words,  l.')2,185 

Some  brief  notices  of  the  translation 
of  the  Scrip^^^es  will  be  found  interest- 
ing. The  Old  Testament  was  first  trans- 
luted  into  Greek  nearly  three  hundred 
years  before  Christ.  This  version  is 
called  by  scholars  the  Septuagint,  fre- 
quently expressed  in  short  thus,  "  LXX," 
from  the  number  of  seventy,  or  seventy- 
two  Jewish  elders,  who  were  said  to  have 
been  employed  in  this  important  work, 
to  gratify  Ptolemy  Philadelphus,  king 
of  Egypt.  The  true  reason  of  this  trans- 
lation, according  to  the  most  learned 
men,  was  the  disj^ersion  of  the  Jews 
among  the  nations  using  the  Greek  lan- 
guage, by  ihtercoLirse  with  whom  they 
forgot  their  native  tongue,  and  were  un- 
able to  read  the  Scriptui^es  or  understand 
them  in  the  original  Hebrew. 

The  first  complete  translation  of  the 
Bible  into  English  Avas  made  by  John 
"Wickliffe,  about  the  year  1380;  and  there 
cxi.st  several  manuscript  copies  of  his 
translation  in  public  libraries.  The 
translation  of  William  Tyndale  was  the 
first  ever  printed.  He  was  obliged,  how- 
ever, to  withdraw  to  the  continent  to 
jirosecute  his  work  in  security.  His 
translation  of  the  New  Testament  was 
published  in  1526,  at  Antwerp  or  Ham- 
burg, and  a  few  years  later  the  whole 
of  the  Bible.  Tyndale  was  apprehended 
as  a  heretic  by  Charles  V,  and  was  burnt 
to  ashes  near  Antwerp,  in  1536.  "King 
James's  Bible,"  our  present  authorized 
version,  was  made  by  fortj'-seven  learned 
divines,  and  published  in  1611.  They 
were  engaged  upon  it  for  three  years. 
Every  sentence,  every  word,  every  syl- 
lable, -  every  letter,  and  every  point 
seemed  to  have  been  weighed  with  the 
nicest  exactness.  It  is  justly  regarded 
by  scholars  as  the  most  faithful  transla- 
tion made  into  any  modern  language. 


Tyndale's  translation  of  the  New  Tes- 
tament, especially,  is  considered  admi- 
rable both  for  style  and  accuracy.  To 
use  the  words  of  a  profound  modern 
scholar,  "It  is  astonishing  how  little 
obsolete  the  language  of  it  is,  even  at 
this  day ;  and,  in  point  of  perspicuity 
and  noble  simplicity,  propriety  of  idiom, 
and  purity  of  style,  no  English  version 
has  yet  surpassed  it.''  The  following  are 
Tyndale's  translations  of  the  Magnificat 
and  Lord's  Prayer,  in  the  spelling  of  the 
original  edition: 

"  And  Mary  sayde,  My  soul  magnifieth 
the  Lordo,  and  my  sprete  reioyseth  in 
God  my  Savioure. 

"  For  he  hath  loked  on  the  povre  de- 
gre  of  his  honde  maydcn.  Beholde 
nowe  from  hens  forthe  shall  all  genera- 
cions  call  me  blessed. 

"  For  he  that  is  myghty  hath  done  to 
m';  greate  thinges,  and  blessed  js  his 
name  : 

"And  hys  mercy  is  always  on  them  that 
feare  him  thorow  oute  all  generacions. 

"He  hath  shewed  strengthe  with  his 
arme;  he  hath  scattered  them  that  are 
proiide  in  the  yraaginacion  of  their 
hertes. 

"He  hath  putt  doune  the  myghty  from 
their  seates,  and  hath  exalthed  them  of 
lowe  degre. 

"He  hath  filled  the  hungry  with  goode 
thinges,  and  hath  sent  away  the  ryche 
empty. 

"He  hath  remembered  mercy,  and 
hath  holpen  his  servaunt  Israhel. 

"Even  as  he  promised  to  oui-e  fathers, 
Abraham  and  to  his  seed  forever. 

"  Oure  father  which  arte  in  heven, 
halowed  be  thy  name.  Let  thy  kingdom 
come.  Thy  wyll  be  fulfilled,  as  well  in 
erth,  as  hit  ys  in  heven.  Geve^vs  this 
daye  oure  dayly  breade.  And  forgeve 
vs  oure  treaspases,  even  as  we  forgeve 
them  which  treaspas  vs.  Leede  us  not 
into  temtacion,  but  delyvre  vs  from  yvell. 
Amen." 

The  first  Bible  translated  in  America 
was  in  the  Indian  language.     Eev.  John 


PLEASING   AND    COMFOETING   LITEEATUEE, 


Eliot,  the  celebrated  missionary  to  the 
Indians  of  Massachusetts,  transhited  the 
whole  of  the  Bible  into  the  Nattick  or 
Nipmuc  dialect.  It  was  printed  at  Cam- 
bridge in  1663,  and  is  the  first  Bible 
printed  on  this  continent.  It  is  related 
that  when  he  was  engaged  upon  the 
work,  he  came  to  the  following  passages 
in  Judges  v,  28:  "The  mother  of  Sisera 
looked  out  at  the  window,  and  cried 
through  the  lattice,"  etc.  He  described 
to  the  Indians  the  meaning  of  lattice  as 
a  sort  of  frame- work  or  netting,  and  they 
gave  him  a  word  which  he  thought  was 
what  he  wanted  for  his  Bible.  Some 
years  afterward,  when  he  had  grown 
more  familiar  with  their  language,  he 
burst  into  a  laugh  as  he  discovered  what 
word  he  had  used  and  printed,  which 
the  readei  ~ill  see  at  the  end  of  this  quo- 
tation :  "Tne  mother  of  Sisera  looked  out 
of  the  window,  and  cried  through  the 
eelpot." 

The  following  is  a  part  of  the  Lord's 
Prayer  in  the  Indian  tongue  from  Eliot's 
Bible  : 

Our  Father         heaven  in  liallowod  thy  nnmo 

Nimhiin  kejiugut;       QuUiuHutuiiinnach     lilvwtnuvnk ; 

come  thy  kinsjilom  thy  will  done 

Peyaummdch  JcitX-  keUissnlaiitouiiJ: :  KulteyiaiUumoonJc  ncn  nacli 
Earth  on        ns  Heaven  in  our  food  daily 

oltkeit  waite  kesitkqnt      i\  nmmeeisuongitsh     asrkesakoktuh 

give  U3        tliis  this  day  antl  forL'ive      us 

asamaiiiiean        yvuyeii        kesttkod;        kali        alujiiuiilamauiu'an 

our  sins. 
uniHnuiCcliescoii<j<ii>h. 

A  second  edition  of  this  Bible  was 
printed  in  1G85,  in  the  correction  of 
which  Mr.  Eliot  received  great  assistance 
from  Mr.  John  Cotton. 


WHAT  IS  IN  HEAVEU. 

fThosp  lines  are  from  an  aneient  roini,  entitled  "Tlie 
Piiclis  of  ('onsriciKc,  '  wiilt.ii  liy  Ki.lianI  Kolle,  a  lu-nnit 
of  ttic  cinlir  of  Saint  Aiiun^l  iiir,  til  11  tivc  Imndreil  \ears  a^'o. 
It  is  a  curiosity  as  sliowini.'  tli.-  Kiii;ll-li  hiii'rua!;<' ill  the  cen- 
tury previous  to  that  iu  whicli  Columbus  was  born. J 

Ther  is  lyf  witlioute  ony  deth, 

And  ther  is  youthe  withonte  ony  elde; 

And  ther  is  alio  mannor  welthe  to  welde: 

And  tlier  is  rest  ■without  ony  travaille; 

And  ther  is  pees  without  onv  strife, 

And  ther  is  alle  manner  lykingc  of  lyf; 

And  Iher  is  bright  sonier  ever  to  se, 

And  ther  is  nevere  wynter  in  that  countrie; 


And  ther  is  more  worshipe  and  honour, 

Then  evere  hade  kynge  other  emperour. 

And  ther  is  grete  iiielodie  of  aungeles  songe, 

And  ther  is  preysiug  hem  amonge. 

And  ther  is  alle  manner  frendshipe  that  may  be, 

And  ther  is  evere  perfect  love  and  charite; 

And  ther  is  wisdom  without  folye, 

And  ther  is  honeste  without  vilcneye. 

Al  these  a  man  may  joyes  of  hevene  call; 

Ac  yutte  the  most  sovereyn  jo^'e  of  alle 

Is  the  sighte  of  Goddes  bright  face, 

In  wham  resteth  alle  mannere  grace. 


DELIGHT  IN  GOD  ONLY. 

[This  poem  is  liy  Francis  Quarles,  who  lived  in  t)ie  times 
of  Charles  I,  whose  cause  he  espoused.  Tlie  opposite  party 
8o  havrassed  hiiii,  iniuiiiis  his  property,  pluiideriiis  liiin  of 
his  hooks,  and  <listro>  ing  his  rale  iiiaiiuscripts,  tliat  it  hroke 
dfiwn  his  health  aiidspiiifs.  and  is  sai<i  to  have  occasioned 
his  deatli.  His  licpok  oi'  Iliviue  Kinhlenis,  -with  their  iiuaint 
and  grotesiiue  illustrations,  fi.r  a  loug  time  after,  were 
found  in  the  cottages  of  the  peasants.] 

I  LOVE  (and  have  some  cause  to  love)  the  earth ; 
8he  is  my  Malcer's  creature;  therefore  good: 
She  is  my  mother,  for  she  gave  me  birth; 
She  is  my  tender  nurse — she  gives  me  food; 

But  what's  a  creature,  Lord,  compared  with 
thee? 

Or  what's  my  mother,  or  my  nurse  to  me? 

I  love  the  air:  her  dainty  sweets  refresh 

]\Iy  drooping  soul,  and  to  new  sweets  invite  me; 

Her  shrill-mouthed  quire  sustains  nie  with  their 
flesh. 

And  with  their  man3'-toned  notes  delight  me: 
But  what's  the  air  or  all  the  sweets  that  she 
Can  bless  my  soul  withal,  compared  to  thee? 

I  love  the  sea :  she  is  my  fellow-creature. 

My  careful  purveyor;  she  provides  me  store; 

She  walls  me  round;   she  makes  my  diet  greater; 

She  wafts  my  treasure  from  a  foreign  ^hore: 
But,  Lord  of  oceans,  when  compared  with  thee, 
What  is  the  ocean,  or  her  wealth  to  me? 

To  heaven's  high  city  I  direct  my  journey, 
Whose  spangled  suburbs  entertaiu  mine  eye; 
Mine  eye,  by  contem)>la(ion's  great  attorney. 
Transcends  the  crystal  p:(vement  of  the  sky: 
But  what  is  heaven,  great  God,  compared  to 

thee? 
Without   thy  presence,  heaven's  no  heaven 
to  me. 

Without  thy  presence  earth  gives  no  refect io-*; 

Without  thy  presence  sea  affords  no  treasure; 

Without  thy  presence  air"s  a  rank  infection; 

Without  thy  presence  heaven  itself  no  pleasure: 
If  not  possessed,  if  not  enjoyed  in  thee. 
What's  earth,  or  sea,  or  air,  or  heaven  to  me? 


26 


SUNDAY   BOOK    OF 


The  highest  honors  that  the  world  can  boast, 
Are  subjects  far  too  low  lor  my  desire ; 
The  brightest  beams  of  glory  are  (at  most) 
But  dying  sparlvles  of  thy  living  fire: 

The  loudest  flames  that  earth  can  kindle,  be 
But  nightly  glow-worms,  if  compared  to  thee. 

Without  thy  presance  wealth  is  bags  of  cares; 

Wisdom  but  folly;  joy  disquiet — sadness; 

Friendship  is  treason,  and  delights  are  snares; 

Pleasures  but  pains,  and  mirth  but   pleasing 
madness; 
Without  thee,  Lord,  things  be  not  what  they  be. 
Nor  have  they  being,  when  compared  with  thee. 

In  having  all  things,  and  not  thee,  what  have  I? 

Not  having  tliee,  what  have  my  labors  got? 

Let  me  enjoy  but  thee,  what  further  crave  I? 

And  having  thee  alone,  what  have  I  not? 
I  wisli  nor  sea  nor  land;  nor  would  I  be 
Possessed  of  heaven,  heaven  unpossessed  of 
thee. 


THE  EMPTINESS  OF  EICHES. 

Epward  Young. 

Can  gold  calm  passion,  or  make  reason  shine? 
Can  we  dig  peace  or  wisdom  from  the  mine? 
Wisdom  to  gold  prefer,  for  'tis  much  less 
To  make  our  fortune  than  our  happiness: 
Tliat  happiness  which  great  ones  often  see. 
With  rage  and  wonder,  in  a  low  degree. 
Themselves  unblessed.     The  poor  are  only  poor. 
But  what  are  tliey  who  droop  amid  their  store? 
Nothing  is  meaner  than  a  wretch  of  state. 
The  happy  only  are  tlie  truly  great. 
Peasants  enjoy  like  appetites  with  kings. 
And  those  best  satisfied  with  cheapest  things. 


THE  NEW  JERUSALEM, 

OE  THE  soul's  breathing  AFTER  THE   HEAVENLY  COUNTRY. 

[This  grand  old  hymn,  liy  an  unknown  anHior,  lias  pxistod 
for  centuries.  "It  lias  nui;,' in  triujii|>liaMt  iintes  tlircmsli  tlio 
ardies  of  mighty  catlii-ilrals  ;  it  lias  L.-.^n  <lianti'cl  l>y  the  lips 
of  kinss  and  tjueens  ami  nuhlcs;  it  lias  asci'inl.il  iii  thf  still 
air  above  the  cottage  roofs  i)f  tln^  poor;  it  has  aiven  utter- 
ance to  the  hopes  and  expectations  of  the  Christian  on  every 
continent,  hy  every  sea-shore,  in  hall  and  hnvcl,  until  it  has 
become,  in  one  or  another  of  its  forms,  the  possession  of  the 
wholt)  (Jluistian  wculd.  Innumerable^  lips  that  here  lia've 
bven  touched  by  its  beauty  and  poNVer,  have  gone  to  sing  other 
uaJ  nobler  songs  up  youder." 


"Since  Christ's  fair  truth  fieeds  no  man's  art. 
Take  this  rude  song  iu  better  part." 


O  MOTHER,  dear  Jerusalem, 
When  shall  I  come  to  thee? 

When  shall  my  sorroM's  have  an  end, 
Thy  joys  when  shall  I  see? 


0  happy  harbor  of  God's  saints, 

O  sweet  and  pleasant  soil! 
In  thee  no  sorrows  can  be  found — 

No  grief,  no  care,  no  toil. 

In  thee  no  sickness  is  at  all, 

Nor  hurt,  nor  any  sore  ; 
There  is  no  death,  nor  ugly  night, 

But  life  for  evermore. 
No  dimming  cloud  o'ershadows  thee, 

No  cloud  nor  darksome  night, 
But  every  soul  shines  as  the  sun — 

For  God  himself  gives  light. 

There  lust  and  lucre  can  not  dwell, 

There  envy  bears  no  sw^ay; 
There  is  no  hunger,  heat,  nor  cold, 

But  pleasure  every  way. 
Thy  walls  are  made  of  precious  stones, 

Thy  bulwarks  diamonds  square; 
Thy  gates  are  of  right  orient  pearl, 

Exceeding  rich  and  rare. 

Thy  turrets  and  thy  pinnacles 

AVith  carbuncles  do  shine. 
Thy  very  streets  are  paved  with  gold, 

Surpassing  clear  and  fine. 
Ah,  my  sweet  home,  Jerusalem, 

Would  God  I  Avere  in  thee! 
Would  God  my  woes  were  at  an  end, 

Thy  joys  that  I  might  see  ! 

Thy  saints  are  crowned  with  glory  great ; 

They  see  God  face  to  face ; 
They  triumph  still,  they  still  i-ejoice, 

Most  happy  is  their  case. 
We  that  arc  here  in  banishment 

Continually  do  moan  ; 
We  sigh  and  sob,  and  weep  and  wail, 

Perpetually  we  groan. 

Our  sweet  is  mixed  with  bitter  gall, 

Our  pleasure  is  but  pain. 
Our  joys  scarce  last  the  looking  on, 

Our  sorrows  still  remain. 
But  there  they  live  in  such  delight, 

Such  pleasure  and  such  play. 
As  tliat  to  them  a  tht>usand  years 

Doth  seem  as  yesterday. 


PLEASING    AND    COMFORTING   LITEEATURE 


Thy  gardens  and  thy  gallant  walks 

Continxially  arc  green, 
There  grow  such  sweet  and  pleasant 
flowers 

As  nowhere  else  are  seen. 
Quite  through  the  streets,  with  silver 
sound. 

The  flood  of  Life  doth  flow; 
[Jpon  whose  banks  on  every  side 

The  wood  of  Life  doth  grow. 

There  trees  for  evermore  bear  fruit, 

And  evermore  do  spring; 
There  evermore  the  angels  sit, 

And  evei-morc  do  sing. 
Jerusalem,  my  happy  homo, 

Would  God  I  were  in  thee ! 
Would  God  my  woes  were  at  an  end. 

Thy  joys  that  I  might  see  ! 


THE  IMMORTALITY  OF  THE  SOUL. 

ADMSOJT. 

f.ToSEPH  Adi>tsox,  tho  son  of  an  KiicHsli  df>an,  was  born  in 
Wiltsliin-,  Euglanil,  in  K.T:'.  ami  di.-l  in  17l'.t.  On  liis  dcatli- 
bril,  lie  sent  fur  a  frii'uil  wliuni  lie  wisln'ilto  reclaim  fi'nni  a 
dissipated  and  lieenticms  life.  "I  have  sent  for  yon,"  ho 
said,  "  that  5'ou  may  see  in  what  peace  a  (Iliristian  can  die." 
The  uniform  tendency  of  his  writins.s  is  so  excellent,  dis- 
playing, on  his  part,  snch  qualities  of  mind  and  heart,  that 
it  is  said  that  they  convey  the  impression  "like  hein?  re- 
called to  a  sense  of  si>methin!;  like  that  original  purity  from 
which  man  has  h^is  been  estranged."  His  style  is  regarded 
by  scholars  as  a  model  of  purest  Euglish.] 

Among  other  excellent  arguments  for 
the  immortality  of  the  soul,  there  is  one 
drawn  from  the  perpetual  progress  of 
the  soul  to  its  perfection,  without  a  pos- 
sibility of  ever  arriving  at  it,  which  is 
a  hint  that  I  do  not  remember  to  have 
8een<)pened  and  improved  by  others  who 
have  written  on  this  subject,  though  it 
seems  to  me  to  carry  a  very  great  weight 
with  it.  How  can  it  enter  into  the 
thoughts  of  man  that  the  soul,  which 
is  capable  of  such  immense  perfections, 
and  of  receiving  new  improvements  to 
all  eternity,  shall  fall  away  into  nothing 
almost  as  soon  as  it  is  created?  Are 
such  abilities  made  for  no  purpose?  A 
brute  arrives  at  a  point  of  perfection 
that  he  can  never  pass;  in  a  few  years 
he  has  all  the  endowments  he  is  capable 
of;  and  Avcre  he  to  live  ten  thousand 
more,  would  be  the  same  thiuir  he  is  at 


present.  Were  a  human  soul  thus  at  a 
stand  in  her  accomplishments;  were  her 
faculties  to  be  full-blown,  and  incapable 
of  further  enlargements,  I  could  imagine 
it  might  fall  away  insensible,  and  drop 
at  once  into  a  state  of  annihilation. 
But  can  we  believe  a  thinking  being, 
that  is  in  a  perpetual  progress  of  im- 
provements, and  traveling  on  from  per- 
fection to  perfection,  after  having  just 
looked  abroad  into  the  works  of  its 
Creator,  and  made  few  discoveries  of 
hisinfinitegoodness,  Avisdom,and  jDOwer, 
must  perish  at  her  first  setting  out,  and 
in  the  very  beginning  of  her  inquiries? 
Man,  considered  in  his  present  state, . 
seems  only  sent  into  the  world  to  pro- 
pagate his  kind.  He  provides  himself 
with  a  successor,  and  immediately  quits 
his  post  to  make  room  for  him. 

Heir  crowds  heir,  as  in  a  rolling  flood 

Wave  urges  wave. 

He  does  not  seem  born  to  enjoy  life, 
but  to  deliver  down  to  othei's.  This  is 
not  surprising  to  consider  in  animals, 
which  are  formed  for  our  use,  and  can 
finish  their  business  in  a  short  life. 
The  silk-worm,  after  having  spun  her 
task,  lays  her  eggs  and  dies.  But  in 
this  life  man  can  never  take  in  his  full 
measure  of  knowledge  ;  nor  has  he  time 
to  subdue  his  passions,  establish  his  soul 
in  virtue,  and  come  up  to  the  perfection 
of  his  nature  before  he  is  hurried  off 
the  stage.  Would  an  infini(ol3--wiso 
Being  make  such  glorious  creatures  for 
so  mean  a  purpose?  Can  he  delight  in 
tho  production  of  such  abortive  in- 
telligence, such  short-lived  reasonable 
beings?  Would  he  give  us  talents  that 
are  not  to  bo  exerted?  capacities  that 
are  never  to  be  gratified?  How  can  we 
find  that  wisdom  which  shines  through 
all  his  Avorks,  in  the  formation  of  man, 
without  looking  on  this  world  as  only 
a  nursery  for  tho  next,  and  believing 
that  the  several  generations  of  rational 
creatures,  which  rise  up  and  disappear- 
in  such  quick  successions,  are  only  to 


28 


SUNDAY    BOOK    OF 


receive  their  first  rudiments  of  exist- 
ence here,  and  afterward  to  be  trans- 
planted into  a  more  friendly  climate, 
where  they  may  spread  and  flourish  to 
all  eternity? 

There  is  not,  in  my  opinion,  a  more 
pleasing  and  triumphant  consideration 
in  religion  than  this  of  the  perpetual 
pi'Ogress  which  the  soul  makes  toward 
the  perfection  of  its  nature,  without 
ever  arriving  at  a  period  in  it.  To  look 
upon  the  soul  as  going  on  from  strength 
to  strength,  to  consider  that  she  is  to 
shine  forever  with  new  accessions  of 
glory  and  brighten  to  all  eternity;  that 
she  will  bo  still  adding  virtue  to  virtue 
and  knowledge  to  knowledge,  carries 
in  it  something  wonderfully  agreeable 
to  that  ambition  which  is  natural  to 
the  mind  of  man.  Nay,  it  must  be  a 
prospect  pleasing  to  God  himself  to  see 
his  creation  forever  beautifying  in  his 
eyes,  and  drawing  nearer  to  him  by 
greater  degrees  of  resemblance. 

Methinks  this  single  consideration 
of  the  progress  of  a  finite  spirit  to  per- 
fection will  be  sufficient  to  extinguish 
all  envy  in  inferior  natui-es,  and  all 
contempt  in  superior.  That  cherubim, 
which  now  appears  as  a  god  to  a  human 
Boul,  knows  very  well  that  the  period 
will  come  about  in  eternity  when  the 
human  soul  shall  be  as  perfect  as  he 
himself  now  is;  nay,  when  she  shall 
look  down  upon  that  degree  of  perfec- 
tion as  much  as  she  now  falls  short  of 
;t.  It  is  true  the  higher  nature  still 
advances,  and  by  that  means  preserves 
his  distance  and  superiority  in  the  scale 
of  being;  but  he  knows  that  how  high 
soever  the  station  is  of  which  he  stands 
possessed  at  present,  the  inferior  nature 
will  at  length  mount  up  to  it,  and  shine 
forth  in  the  same  degree  of  glory. 

With  what  astonishment  and  venera- 
tion may  we  look  into  our  own  souls, 
where  there  are  such  hidden  stores  of 
virtue  and  knowledge,  such  inexhausted 
sources  of  perfection!  We  know  not 
yet  what  we  shall  be,  nor  will  it  ever 


enter  into  the  heart  of  man  to  conceive 
the  glory  that  will  be  always  in  reserve 
for  him.  The  soul,  considered  in  rela- 
tion to  its  Creator,  is  like  one  of  those 
mathematical  lines  that  may  draw  nearer 
to  another  for  all  eternity  without  a 
possibility  of  touching  it;  and  can  there 
be  a  thought  so  transporting  as  to  con- 
sider ourselves  in  these  perpetual  ap- 
proaches to  Him  who  is  not  only  the 
standard  of  jjerfection  but  of  happi- 
ness? 


THE  COMMON  LOT. 
[James  Montgomery,  boru  in  Scotland  in  1771 ;  died  1864.] 

Once,  in  the  flight  of  ages  past. 

There  lived  a  man  ;   and  who  was  he  ? 

Mortal !  howe'er  thy  lot  be  cast, 
That  man  resembled  thee. 

Unknown  the  region  of  his  birth, 

The  land  in  which  he  died  unknown  : 

His  name  has  perished  from  the  earth, 
This  truth  survives  alone : 

That  joy,  and  grief,  and  hope,  and  fear, 
Alternate  triumphed  in  his  breast; 

His  bless  and  woe — a  smile,  a  tear! 
Oblivion  hides  the  rest. 

The  bounding  pulse,  the  languid  limb, 
The  changing  spirits'  rise  and  fall; 

We  know  that  these  were  felt  by  him, 
For  these  are  felt  by  all. 

He  suffered — but  his  pangs  are  o'er; 

Enjoyed — but  his  delights  are  fled; 
Had  friends — his  friends  are  now  no  more; 

And  foes — his  foes  are  dead. 

He  loved — but  whom  he  loved  the  grave 
Hath  lost  in  its  unconscious  womb: 

0,  she  was  fair!   but  naught  could  save 
Her  beauty  from  the  tomb. 

He  saw  whatever  thou  hast  seen  ; 

Encountered  all  that  troubles  thee: 
He  was — whatever  thou  hast  been; 

He  is — what  thou  shalt  be. 

The  rolling  seasons,  day  and  night. 

Sun,  moon,  and  stars,  the  earth  and  main, 

Erewhile  his  portion,  life  and  light, 
To  him  exist  in  vain. 

The  clouds  and  sunbeams,  o'er  his  eye 
That  once  their  shades  and  glory  threw, 

Have  left  in  yonder  silent  sky 
No  vestige  where  they  flew. 


PLEASING   AND    COMPOETIXG    LITERATUEE, 


29 


The  annals  of  the  human  race, 

Their  ruin.s,  since  the  world  began, 

or  hitu  afford  no  other  trace 
Tlian  this — there  lived  a  man  I 


£LEGY  IN  A  COUNTRY  CHURCH-TARD. 

GKAT. 

TThojiar  Gray  was  Iiorn  in  London.  ITlfi.  At  thirty-four 
7eiirs  o''  ngy,  lii>  wmti'  to  liis  friend  Walpole,  that  "a 
thing  who.-c  bciimiiiii;  he  liad  seen  Ions  efore  had  at 
last  got  au  end  to  it,  a  merit  that  most  of  my  writings  liave 
wanted."  Tliis  thing  was  the  far-famed  Elegy.  It  appears 
th.it  the  piece  was  never  intended  for  the  public,  but  that 
Gray  wrote  it  to  gratify  a  few  of  his  friends.  Walpole 
sliosved  it  about,  copies  were  taken,  and  it  was  soon  put  to 
press.  It  was  receive<l  witli  d'-littht,  and  unickly  ran  thrnutrh 
eleven  editions.  It  is  said  that  on  tin-  nicnuirulile  niirlit  pre- 
ceding the  taking  of  Queln'C,  Gen.  Wolle  repeated  tin-  eletry. 
Upon  concluding  the  recitation,  he  saiil  to  his  companions 
in  arms,  "  Now,  gentlemen,  I  would  prefer  beinii  the  autlior 
of  that  poem  to  the  glory  of  beating  the  French  to-morrow.  "J 

The  curfew  tolls  the  knell  of  parting  day, 
The  lowing  herds  wind  slowly  o'er  the  lea, 

The  plowman  homeward  plods  his  weary  way, 
And  leaves  the  world  to  darkness  and  to  me. 

Now  fades  the  glimmering  landscape  on  the  sight, 
And  all  the  air  a  solemn  stillness  holds. 

Save  where  the  beetle  wheels  his  droning  flight, 
And  drowsy  tinklings  lull  the  distant  folds; 

iJave  that  from  yonder  ivy-mantled  tower. 

The  moping  owl  does  to  the  moon  complain 
Of  such  as,  wandering  near  her  secret  bower, 

Molest  her  ancient  solitary  reign. 

Beneath  those  rugged  elms,  thatyew-free's  shade, 
Where  heaves  the  turf  in  inanj'  a  moldering  heap. 

Each  in  his  narrow  cell  forever  laid. 
The  rude  forefathers  of  the  hamlet  sleep. 

The  breezy  call  of  incense-breathing  morn. 
The  swallow   twittering  from  the  straw-built 
shed, 

The  cocks  shrill  clarion,  or  the  echoing  horn. 
No  more  shall  rouse  them  from  their  lowly  bed. 

J;'or  them  no  more  the  blazing  hearth  shall  burn, 
Or  busy  housewife  ply  her  evening  care: 

^iO  children  run  to  lisp  their  sire's  return, 
Or  climb  his  knees  the  envied  kiss  to  share. 

Oft  did  the  harvest  to  their  sickle  yield, 

Their  furrow  oft  the  stubborn  glebe  has  broke; 

How  jocutul  did  they  drive  their  team  a-lield! 
IIow   bowed   the    woods  beneath  their  sturdy 
stroke! 

Let  not  Ambition  mock  their  useful  toil. 
Their  homely  joys,  and  destiny  obscure; 

Nor  Grandeur  hear  with  a  disdainful  smile 
The  short  and  simple  annals  of  the  poor. 

The  boast  of  heraldry,  the  pomp  of  power, 

And  all  that  beauty,  all  that  wealth  e'er  gave, 

Await  alike  the  inevitable  hour: 

The  paths  of  glory  lead  but  to  the  grave. 


Nor  you,  ye  protid,  impute  to  these  the  fault, 
If  Memory  o'er  their  tomb  no  trophies  raise. 

Where  through  the  loug-drawu  aisle  and  fretted 
vatdt 
The  pealing  anthem  swells  the  note  of  praise. 

Can  storied  urn  or  animated  bust 

Back  to  its  mansion  call  the  fleeting  breath? 
Can  Honor's  voice  provoke  the  silent  dust. 

Or  flattery  soothe  the  dull  cold  ear  of  Death? 

Perhaps  in  this  neglected  spot  is  laid 

Some  heart  once  pregnant  with  celestial  fire; 

Hands  that  the  rod  of  empire  might  have  swayed, 
Or  waked  to  ecstasy  the  living  lyre. 

Cut  knowledge  to  their  eyes  her  ample  page 
Rich  with  the  spoils  of  time  did  ne'er  unroll; 

Chill  Penury  repressed  their  noble  rage, 
And  froze  the  genial  current  of  the  soul. 

Full  many  a  gem  of  purest  ray  serene. 

The  dark  unfathomed  caves  of  ocean  bear: 

Full  many  a  flower  is  born  to  blush  unseen, 
And  waste  its  sweetness  on  the  desert  air. 

Some    village     Hampden,    that    with    dauntless 
breast 

The  little  tyrant  of  his  fields  withstood; 
Some  mute  inglorious  Milton  here  may  rest. 

Some  Cromwell  guiltless  of  his  country's  blood. 

The  applause  of  listening  senates  to  command, 
The  threats  of  pain  and  ruin  to  despise. 

To  scatter  plenty  o'er  a  smiling  land. 

And  read  their  history  in  a  nation's  eyes. 

Their  lot  forbade;  nor  circumscribed  alone 
Their  growing   virtues,  but  their  crimes  con* 
fined; 

Forbade  to  wade  through  slaughter  to  a  throne. 
And  shut  the  gates  of  mercy  on  mankind; 

The  struggling  pangs  of  conscious  truth  to  hide. 
To  (|ueiKh  the  blushes  of  ingenuous  shame. 

Or  heap  the  slirine  of  Luxury  and  Pride 
With  incense  kindled  at  the  Muse's  flame. 

Far  from  the  mad<ling  crowd's  ignoble  strife 
Their  sober  wislies  never  learned  to  stray; 

Along  the  cool  seiinesiered  vale  of  life 

They  kept  the  noiseless  tenor  of  their  way. 

Yet  e'en  these  bones  from  insult  to  protect, 
Some  frail  memorial  still  ciected  nigh, 

With    uncouth   rhymes  and   shapeless  sculpture 
decked, 
Implores  the  passing  tribute  of  a  sigh. 

Their  name,  their  years,  spelt  by  the  unlettered 
muse, 

The  place  of  fame  and  elegy  supply. 
And  iiiany  a  holy  text  around  she  strews, 

That  teach  the  rustic  moralist  to  die. 


30 


SUNDAY    BOOK    OF 


For  who,  to  dumb  Forgetfulness  a  prey, 
This  pleasing  anxious  being  e'er  resigned, 

Left  the  warm  precincts  of  the  cheerful  day, 
Nor  cast  one  longing,  lingering  look  behind? 

On  some  fond  breast  the  parting  soul  relies, 
Some  pious  drops  the  closing  eye  requires; 

Even  from  the  tomb  the  voice  of  nature  cries, 
Even  in  our  ashes  live  their  wonted  fires. 

For  thee,  who  mindful  of  the  unhonored  dead. 
Dost  in  these  lines  their  artless  tale  relate; 

If  chance,  by  lonely  Contemplation  led. 

Some  kindred  spirit  shall  inquire  thy  fate; 

Haply  some  hoary-headed  swain  may  say, 
"Oft  have  we  seen  him  at  the  peep  of  dawn 

Brushing  with  hasty  steps  the  dews  away. 
To  meet  the  sun  upon  the  upland  lawn. 

There  at  the  foot  of  yonder  nodding  beech, 
That  wreathes  its  old  fantastic  roots  so  high. 

His  listless  length  at  noontide  would  he  stretch, 
And  pore  upon  the  brook  that  babbles  by. 

Hard  by  yon  wood,  now  smiling  as  in  scorn. 
Muttering  his  wayward  fancies  he  would  rove; 

How  drooping,  woeful,  wan,  like  one  forlorn. 
Or  crazed   with    care,  or   crossed  in  hopeless 
love. 

One  morn  I  missed  him  on  the  'customed  hill, 
Along  the  heath  and  near  his  favorite  tree; 

Another  came;   nor  yet  beside  the  rill. 

Nor  up  the  lawn,  nor  at  the  wood  was  he: 

The  next,  with  dirges  due  in  sad  array 

Slow  through  the  church-way  path  we  see  him 
borne: 

Approach  and  read  (for  thou  canst  read)  the  lay 
Graved  on  the  stone  beneath  yon  aged  thorn.' 


THE    EPITAPH. 

Here  rests  his  head  upon  the  lap  of  Earth, 
A  Youth,  to  Fortune  and  to  Fame  unknown; 

Fair  Science  frowned  not  on  his  humble  birth, 
And  Melancholy  marked  him  for  her  own. 

Large  was  his  bounty,  and  his  soul  sincere. 
Heaven  did  a  recompense  as  largely  send: 

He  gave  to  Misery  all  he  h:id,  a  tear. 

He  gained  from  Heaven  ('twas  all  he  wished) 
a  friend. 

No  further  seek  his  merits  to  disclose. 

Or  driw  his  frailties  from  their  dread  abode, 
There  they  alike  in  trembling  hope  repose,) 
The  bosom  of  his  Father  and  his  God. 


THE  ANCIENT  MAN. 

JEAN   PAUI.  RICnTEE. 

["  Looking  Toward  Sunset  *'  i.  a  cli.ivming  bonk  to  those 
%vlio  have  arrived  l>e5'onil  their  noun,  and  liave  their  eyes 
fixed  upon  the  western  liills  tliat  bound  the  great  jonrney. 
It  is  the  rich  gleanings  of  a  life  harvest  from  all  literatures, 
by  31  rs.  L.  ^Maria  Child,  gathered  from  sources,  old  and  new, 
original  and  selected,  e(jiisistin<r  of  siicli  articles  In  prose  and 
poetry  that  tend  most  to  comfnit  ai.d  glailden  one's  later 
years  while  moving  alone  in  tli''  quiet  li-ngthening  shadows 
of  the  declining  rays.  The  subject  annexed  is  translated 
from  the  German  of  ""Jean  Paul  Eicliter"s  memoir  of  Fibel, 
author  of  the  Bienenroda  Spelling  Book."  It  describes  the 
last  days  ot  a  very  aged  man,  golden  in  the  mellow  euusct 
glow  of  a  pure  and  tranquil  life.] 


"He  is  insensibl}' subdued 
To  settled  quiet.     He  is  one  by  whom 
All  etibrt  seems  forgotten  ;  one  to  whom 
Long  patience  hath  such  mild  composure  given, 
That  patience  now  doth  seem  a  thing  of  which 
He  hath  no  need.      He  is  by  Nature  led 
To  peace  so  perfect,  tliat  the  young  behold 
With  envy  what  the  old  man  hardly  feels." 

Wordsworth. 

The  stream  of  Fibcl's  history  havinc; 
vanished  under  gronnd,  like  a  second 
river  Rhone,  I  was  obliged  to  explore 
where  story  or  stream  again  btirst  forth, 
and  for  this  purpose  I  questioned  every 
one.  I  was  told  that  no  one  could  better 
inform  me  than  an  exceedingly  aged 
man,  more  than  a  htmdred  and  twenty- 
tive  years  old,  who  lived  a  few  miles 
from  the  village  of  Bietienroda,  and  who, 
having  been  young  at  the  same  time  with 
Fibel,  must  know  all  about  him.  The 
prospect  of  shaking  hands  with  the 
very  oldest  man  living  on  the  face  of 
the  earth  enrapttired  me.  I  said  to  my- 
self that  a  most  novel  and  peculiar  sen- 
sation must  be  excited  by  having  a 
whole  past  centtiry  before  you,  bodily 
]iresent,  compact  and  alive,  in  the  cen- 
tury now  passing;  by  holding,  hand  to 
hand,  a  man  of  the  age  of  the  antedilu- 
vians, dver  whose  head  so  many  entire 
generations  of  young  mornings  and  old 
evenings  have  fled,  and  before  whom  one 
stands,  in  fact,  as  neither  young  nor 
old ;  to  listen  to  a  human  spirit,  out- 
landish, behind  the  time,  almost  mys- 
teriously awful ;  sole  survivor  of  a  thou- 
sand grny,  cold  sleepers,  coevals  of  his 
own  remote,  hoary  age ;  standing  as  sen- 


PLEASING    AND    CO:\IFOETING    LITERATUliE, 


tinel  before  the  ancient  dead,  looking 
coldly  and  strangely  on  life's  silly  novel- 
ties; finding  in  the  present  no  cooling 
for  his  inborn  spirit-thirst,  no  more  en- 
chanting yesterdays  or  to-morrows,  but 
onl}^  the  day-before-yesterday  of  youth 
and  the  day-after-to-morrow  of  death. 
It  may,  consequently,  be  imagined  that  so 
very  old  a  man  Avould  speak  only  of  the 
farthest  past,  of  his  early  day-dawn, 
which,  of  course,  in  the  long  evening  of 
his  proti*aeted  day,  must  now  be  blend- 
ing with  his  midnight.  On  the  other 
hand,  that  one  like  myself  would  not 
feel  pai'ticularly  younger  before  such  a 
millionaire  of  hours  as  Bienenroda  Pa- 
triarch must  be,  and  that  his  presence 
must  make  one  feel  more  conscious  of 
death  than  of  immortality.  A  very  aged 
man  is  a  more  powerful  memento  than  a 
grave,  for  the  older  a  grave  is  the  further 
we  look  back  to  the  succession  of  young- 
persons  who  have  moldered  in  it;  some- 
times a  maiden  is  concealed  in  an  an- 
cient grave,  but  an  ancient  dwindled 
body  hides  only  an  imprisoned  spirit. 

An  opjjortunity  for  visiting  the  Patri- 
arch was  presented  by  a  return  coach - 
and-six,  belonging  to  a  count,  on  which 
I  was  admitted  to  a  seat  with  the  coach- 
man.. Just  before  arriving  at  Bienen- 
roda, he  pointed  with  his  whip  toward 
an  orchard,  tuneful  with  song,  and  said  : 
"There  sits  the  old  man,  with  his  little 
animals  around  him."  I  sprang  from 
the  noble  equijiage,  and  went  toward 
him.  I  ventured  to  expect  that  the 
count's  six  horses  would  give  me,  before 
the  old  man,  the  appearance  of  a  person 
of  rank,  apart  from  the  simplicity  of  my 
dress,  whereby  princes  and  heroes  are 
wont  to  distinguish  themselves  from  their 
tinseled  lackej's.  I  was,  therefore,  a  lit- 
tle surprised  that  the  old  man  kept  on 
playing  with  his  pet  hare,  not  even 
checking  the  barking  of  his  poodle,  as 
if  counts  were  his  daily  bread,  until,  at 
last,  ho  lifted  his  oil-cloth  hat  from  his 
head.  A  buttoned  overcoat,  which  gave 
room  to  sec  his  vest,  a  long  pair  of  knit 


overalls,  which  were,  in  fact,  enormous 
stockings,  and  a  neckerchief  which  hung 
down  to  his  bosom,  made  his  dress  look 
modern  enough.  His  time-worn  fi-ame 
was  far  more  peculiar.  The  inner  part 
of  the  eye,  which  is  black  in  childhood, 
was  quite  white;  his  tallness,  more  than 
his  years,  seemed  to  bow  him  over  into 
an  arch;  the  outturned  point  of  his  chin 
gave  to  his  speech  the  appearance  of 
mumbling ;  j'-et  the  expression  of  his 
countenance  was  lively,  his  eyes  bright, 
his  jaws  full  of  white  teeth,  and  his  head 
covered  with  liglit  hair. 

I  began  by  saying:  "I  came  here 
solely  on  j'our  account,  to  see  a  man  for 
whom  there  can,  assuredl}',  be  little  new 
under  the  sun,  though  he  himself  is 
something  very  new  under  it.  You  are 
now  strictly  in  your  fivc-and-twenties, 
since,  after  a  century,  a  new  reckoning 
commences.  For  myself,  I  confess,  after 
once  clambering  over  the  century  termi- 
nus, or  church- wall,  of  a  hundred  years,  I 
should  neither  know  how  old  1  was,  nor 
whether  I  was  myself  I  should  begin 
fresh  and  free,  just  as  the  world's  history 
has  often  done,  counting  again  from  the 
year  one,  in  the  middle  of  a  thousand 
years.  Yet,  why  can  not  a  man  live  to 
be  as  old  as  is  many  a  giant  tree  of  India, 
still  standing?  It  is  well  to  question 
very  old  people  concerning  the  methods 
by  which  they  have  prolonged  their 
lives.  How  do  you  account  lor  it,  dear 
old  sir?" 

I  was  beginning  to  be  vexed  at  the 
good  man's  silence,  when  he  softly  re- 
plied: "Some  suppose  it  is  because  I 
have  always  been  cheerful,  because  I 
have  adopted  the  maxim,  'Never  sad, 
ever  glad;'  but  I  ascribe  it  wholly  to  our 
dear  Lord  God,  since  the  animals  Avhich 
here  surround  us.  though  never  sad,  but 
happy  for  the  most  part,  by  no  means 
so  frequently  exceed  the  usual  boundary 
of  their  life,  as  does  man.  He  exhibits 
an  image  of  the  eternal  God.  even  in  the 
length  of  his  duration." 

Such  words  concerning  God,  uttered 


32 


SUNDAY   BOOK    OF 


by  a  tongue  one  hundred  and  twenty- 
tivo  years  old,  had  great  "weight  and  con- 
isolation,  and  I  at  once  felt  their  beauti- 
ful attraction.  On  mentioning  animals, 
the  old  man  turned  again  to  his  own, 
and,  as  though  indifferent  to  hini  who 
had  come  in  a  coach-and-six,  he  began 
again  to  play  with  his  menagerie — the 
hare,  the  spaniel,  the  silky  poodle,  the 
starling,  and  a  couple  of  turtle-doves  on 
his  bosom.  A  pleasant  bee  colony  in  the 
orchard  also  gave  heed  to  him ;  with  one 
whistle  he  sent  the  bees  away,  and  with 
another  he  summoned  them  into  the  ring 
of  creatures  w^hich  surrounded  him  like 
a  court-circle. 

At  last,  he  said:  '-No  one  need  be  sur- 
prised that  a  very  old  man,  who  has  for- 
gotten every  thing,  and  whom  no  one 
but  the  dear  God  knows  or  cares  for, 
should  give  himself  wholly  to  the  dear 
animals.  To  w^hom  can  such  an  old  man 
be  of  much  use?  I  wander  about  in 
the  villages,  as  in  cities,  wholly  strange. 
If  I  see  children,  they  come  before  mo 
like  my  own  remote  childhood.  If  I 
meet  old  men,  they  seem  like  my  past 
hoary  years.  I  do  not  quite  know  where 
I  now  belong.  I  hang  between  heaven 
and  earth.  Yet  God  ever  looks  upon  me 
bright  and  lovingly,  with  his  two  eyes, 
the  sun  and  the  moon.  Moreover,  ani- 
mals lead  into  no  sin,  but  rather  to  de- 
votion. When  my  turtle-doves  brood 
over  their  3"0ung  and  feed  them,  it  seems 
to  me  just  as  if  I  saw  God  himself  doing 
a  great  deal,  for  they  derive  their  love 
and  instinct  toward  their  young  as  a  gift 
from  him." 

The  old  man  became  silent,  and  looked 
pensively  before  him,  as  was  his  wont.  A  J 
ringing  of  christening  bells  sounded  from 
Bicneni'oda  among  the  trees  in  tlie  gar- 
den. He  wept  a  little.  I  know  not  how 
I  could  have  been  so  simple,  after  the 
beautiful  words  he  had  uttered,  as  to 
have  mistaken  his  tears  for  a  sign  of 
weakness  in  his  eyes.  "  I  do  not  hear 
well,  on  account  of  my  great  age,"  he 
said,  "  and  it  seems  to  me  as  if  the  bap- 


tismal bell  from  the  distant  sanctuary 
sounded  up  here  very  faintly.  The  old 
years  of  mj'  childhood,  more  than  a  hun- 
dred years  ago,  ascend  from  the  ancient 
depths  of  time,  and  gaze  on  me  in  won- 
der, while  I  and  they  know  not  whether 
we  ought  to  weep  or  laugh."  Then,  ad- 
dressing his  silky  poodle,  he  called  out, 
"Ho  !  ho  !  come  here  old  fellow!" 

The  allusion  to  his  childhood  brought 
me  to  the  purpose  of  my  visit.  "  Ex- 
cellent sir,"  said  I,  "  I  am  preparing  the 
biography  of  the  deceased  Master  Gott- 
helf  Fibel,  author  of  the  famous  Spell- 
ing Book,  and  all  I  now  need  to  complete 
it  is  the  account  of  his  death."  The  old 
man  smiled,  and  made  a  low  bow.  "^. 
continued:  "No  one  is  more  likely  t( 
know  the  particulars  of  his  decease  than 
j-ourself,  and  you  are  the  only  i^erson 
who  can  enrich  me  w^ith  the  rare  traits 
of  his  childhood,  because  every  incident 
inscribed  on  a  child's  brain  grows  deeper 
with  years,  like  names  cut  into  a  gourd, 
while  later  inscriptions  disappear.  Tell 
me,  I  pray  you,  all  that  you  know  con- 
cerning the  departed  man,  for  I  am  to 
publish  his  life  at  the  Michaelmas  Fair." 

He  murmured :  "  Excellent  genius, 
scholar,  man  of  letters,  author  most  fa- 
mous— these  and  other  fine  titles  I 
learned  by  heart  and  applied  to  myself 
while  I  was  that  vain,  blinded  Fibel, 
who  wrote  and  j)ublished  the  ordinary' 
spelling  book  in  question." 

So,  then,  this  old  man  was  the  blessed 
Fibel  himself!  A  hundred  and  twenty- 
five  notes  of  admiration,  ay,  eighteen 
hundred  and  eleven  notes  in  a  row, 
would  but  feebly  express  my  astonish- 
ment. 

[Here  follows  a  long  conversation  con- 
cerning Fibel,  after  which  the  narrative 
continues,  as  follows:] 

The  old  man  went  into  his  little  gar- 
den-house, and  I  followed  him.  Ho 
whistled,  and  instantly  a  black  squirrel 
came  down  from  a  tree,  whither  it  had 
gone  more  for  pleasure  than  for  food. 
Nightingales,    thrushes,    starlings,    and 


PLEASING   AND    COMFOETING   LITERATUEE. 


33 


other  birds  flow  back  into  the  open  win- 
dow from  the  tops  of  the  trees.  A  bul- 
finch,  whoso  color  hud  been  changed  by 
age  from  red  to  black,  strutted  about  the 
room,  uttering  droll  sounds,  which  it 
could  not  make  distinct.  The  hai-e  pat- 
tered about  in  the  twilight,  sometimes 
on  his  hind  feet,  sometimes  on  all  fours. 
Every  dog  in  the  house  bounded  forwaixl 
in  glad,  loving,  human  glee.  But  the 
most  joyful  of  all  was  the  poodle;  for  he 
knew  he  was  to  have  a  box,  with  com- 
partments, fastened  to  his  neck,  contain- 
ing a  list  of  the  articles  wanted  for  sup- 
per, which  it  was  his  business  to  bring 
from  the  inn  in  Bienenroda.  He  was 
Eibel's  victualer,  or  provision-wagon. 
Children,  who  ran  back  and  forth,  were 
the  only  other  ones  who  ministered  to 
his  wants. 

In  allusion  to  his  pets,  he  said:  "We 
ought  to  assist  the  circumscribed  facul- 
ties of  animals,  by  educating  them,  as 
far  as  wo  can,  since  wo  stand  toward 
them,  in  a  certain  degree,  as  their  Lord 
God;  and  we  ought  to  train  them  to  good 
morals,  too,  for  very  possibly  they  may 
continue  to  live  after  death.  God  and 
the  animals  are  always  good,  but  not  so 
with  man." 

Aged  men  impart  spiritual  things,  as 
they  give  material  things,  with  a  shaking 
hand,  which  drops  half.  In  the  effort  to 
gather  up  his  recollections,  ho  permitted 
me  to  quicken  his  memory  with  my 
own,  and  thus  I  obtained  a  connected 
account  of  some  particulars  in  his  expe- 
rience. He  said  he  might  have  been 
about  a  hundred  years  old  when  he  cut 
a  new  set  of  teeth,  the  pain  of  which  dis- 
turbed him  with  wild  dreams.  One  night 
he  seemed  to  be  holding  in  his  hand  a 
large  sieve,  and  it  was  his  task  to  pull 
the  meshes  apart,  one  by  one.  The  close 
net-work,  and  the  fastening  of  the  wood- 
en rim  gave  him  indescribable  trouble. 
But  as  his  dream  went  on,  he  seemed  to 
hold  in  his  hand  the  great  bright  sun, 
which  flamed  up  into  his  face.  He  woke 
with   a  newborn  feeling,  and  slumbered 


again  as  if  lying  on  waving  tulips.  Ho 
dreamed,  again,  that  he  was  a  hundred 
years  old,  and  that  he  died  as  an  inno- 
cent yearling  child,  without  any  of  the 
sin  and  woe  of  earth  ;  that  he  found  his 
parents  on  high,  Avho  brought  before  him 
along  procession  of  his  children,  who  had 
remained  invisible  to  him  while  he  was 
in  this  world,  because  they  were  trans- 
parent, like  the  angels.  He  rose  from 
his  bed  with  new  teeth  and  new  ideas. 
The  old  Fibel  was  consumed,  and  a  true 
phenix  stood  in  his  place,  sunning  its 
colored  wings.  He  had  risen  glorified, 
out  of  no  other  grave  than  his  own  body. 
The  world  retreated ;  heaven  came  down. 
When  ho  had  related  these  things,  ho 
at  once  bade  me  good-night.  Without 
waiting  for  the  return  of  his  ministering 
poodle,  and  with  hands  folded  for  prayer, 
he  showed  me  the  road.  I  withdrew, 
but  I  rambled  a  long  time  round  the 
orchard,  which  had  sprung  entirely  from 
seed  of  his  own  planting.  Indeed,  he 
seldom  ate  a  cherry  without  smuggling; 
the  stone  and  burying  it  in  the  ground 
for  a  resurrection.  This  habit  often  an- 
noyed the  neighboring  peasants,  who 
did  not  want  high  things  growing  on 
their  boundaries.  "But,"  said  he,  "I 
can  not  destroy  a  fruit-stone.  If  the 
peasants  pull  up  a  tree  it  produces,  it 
will  still  have  lived  a  little  while,  and  dio 
as  a  child  dies." 

While  loitering  in  the  orchard,  I  heard 
an  evening  hymn  played  and  sung.  I 
returned  near  Fibcl's  window,  and  saw 
him  slowly  turning  a  hand-organ,  and 
accompanying  the  tune  by  softly  singing 
an  evening  hymn.  This  organ,  aided  by 
a  fragment  of  a  voice,  sufficed,  in  its 
monotonous  uniformit}^  for  his  domestic 
devotion.  I  went  away  repeating  the 
song. 

Beautiful  was  the  orchard  when  I  re- 
turned the  next  morning.  And  the  hoar- 
frost of  ago  seemed  thawed  and  fluid 
and  to  glisten  only  as  morning  dew  on 
Fibcl's  after-blossom.  The  affection  of 
his  animals   toward   him   rendered  the 


S4 


SUNDAY    BOOK    OF 


morning  still  more  beautiful,  in  an  or- 
chard every  tree  of  which  had  for  its 
mother  the  stone  of  some  fruit  that  he 
had  enjoyed.  His  animals  were  an  in- 
heritance from  his  parents,  though,  of 
course,  they  were  the  great,  great,  great- 
grandchildren of  those  which  had  be- 
longed to  them.  The  trees  were  full  of 
brooding  birds,  and  by  a  slight  whistle 
he  could  lure  down  to  his  shoulders  this 
tame  posterity  of  his  father's  singing- 
school.  It  was  refreshing  to  the  heart 
to  see  how  quickly  the  tender  flutterers 
surrounded  him. 

With  the  infantile  satisfaction  of  a 
gray-headed  child,  he  was  accustomed  to 
hangup  on  sticks,  or  in  the  trees,  wher- 
ever the  rays  of  the  sun  could  best  shine 
tipon  them,  little  balls  of  colored  glass; 
and  he  took  indescribable  delight  in  this 
accordion  of  silver,  gold,  and  jewel  hues. 

These  particolored  sun-balls,  varying 
the  green  with  many  flaming  tints,  were 
like  crystal  tulip-beds.  Some  of  the  red 
ones  seemed  like  ripe  apples  among  the 
branches.  But  what  charmed  the  old 
man  most  were  reflections  from  the  land- 
scape from  these  little  world-spheres. 
They  resembled  the  moving  prospects 
shadoAved  forth  in  a  diminishing  mirror. 
"Ah,"  said  he,  "when  I  contemplate  the 
colors  produced  by  the  sunshine,  which 
God  giv^es  to  this  dark  world,  it  seems 
to  me  as  if  I  had  departed,  and  were  al- 
ready with  Grod.  And  yet,  since  He  is 
IN  us,  we  are  always  with  God." 

I  asked  him  how  it  happened  that,  at 
his  age,  he  spoke  German  almost  purer 
than  that  used  even  by  our  best  writers. 
Counting  his  birth  from  the  end  of  his 
century  (the  new  birth  described  in  his 
dream),  he  replied:  "I  was  somewhere 
about  two  years  old,  when  I  happened 
to  hear  a  holy,  spiritual  minister,  who 
BiDoke  German  with  such  an  angel- 
tongue,  that  he  would  not  have  needed 
a  better  in  heaven."  He  could  not  tell 
me  the  preacher's  name,  but  he  vividly 
described  his  manner  in  the  pulpit.  He 
told  how  he  spoke  with  no  superfluity  of 


words,  airs,  or  gestures;  how  he  uttered, 
in  mild  tones,  things  the  most  beautiful 
and  forcible;  how,  like  the  Apostle  John, 
with  his  resting-place  close  to  heaven, 
this  man  spoke  to  the  world,  laying  his 
hands  calmly  on  the  pulpit  desk  as  an 
arm-case;  how  his  every  tone  was  a 
heart,  and  his  every  look  a  blessing; 
how  the  energy  of  this  disciple  of  Christ 
Avas  imbedded  in  love,  as  the  firm  dia- 
mond is  incased  in  the  ductile  gold; 
how  the  pulpit  was  to  him  a  Mount  Ta- 
bor, wdiereon  he  transfigured  both  him- 
self and  his  hearers  ;  and  how,  of  all  cler- 
gymen, he  best  performed  that  which  is 
the  most  difficult — the  praying  woi-thily. 
My  feelings  grew  constantly  warmer 
toward  this  time-worn  man,  while  I  did 
not  require  a  full  return  of  affection  from 
him  any  more  than  I  should  from  a  little 
child.  But  I  remembered  that  I  ought 
not  to  disturb  the  evening  of  his  days 
with  things  of  the  world,  and  that  I 
ought  to  depart.  I  Avould  haA^e  him  pre- 
serve, undisturbed,  that  sublime  posi- 
tion of  old  age,  Avhere  man  Ha'cs,  as  it 
Avere,  at  the  pole ;  where  no  star  rises  or 
sets;  whei-e  the  AA^hole  firmament  is  mo- 
tionless and  clear,  Avhile  the  Pole-star 
of  another  Avorld  shines  fixedly  over- 
head. I  therefore  said  to  him  that  I 
would  return  in  the  evening  and  take 
my  leave.  To  my  surprise,  he  replied 
that  perhaps  he  should  himself  take  leave 
of  the  Avliole  Avorld  at  evening,  and  that 
he  wished  not  to  be  disturbed  Avhen  dy- 
ing. He  said  that  he  should  that  even- 
ing read  to  the  end  of  the  Revelation  of 
St.  John,  and  perhaps  it  might  be  the 
end  Avith  him^  also.  I  ought  to  have 
mentioned  prcAnously  that  he  read  con- 
tinually, and  read  nothing  but  the  Bible, 
regularl}^  from  the  beginning  to  the  end  ; 
and  he  had  a  fixed  impression  that  he 
should  depart  on  concluding  the  tAventi- 
eth  and  tAVcnty-first  verses  of  the  twen- 
ty-second chapter  of  the  Revelation  of 
John  :  "  He  Avhich  testifieth  of  all  things 
saith.  Surely  I  come  quickly :  Amen. 
Even  80  come,  Lord  Jesus.     The  grace 


PLEASING  AND  COMFOETING  LITEEATUEE, 


of  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ  be  -with  you 
all.  Amen."  In  consequence  of  this  be- 
lief, he  was  in  the  habit  of  reading  the 
last  books  of  the  Bible  faster. 

Little  as  I  believed  in  so  sudden  a 
withering  of  his  protracted  after-blos- 
som, I  obeyed  his  latest-formed  wish. 
Whenever  a  right  wish  is  expressed  by 
any  man,  we  should  do  well  to  remem- 
ber that  it  may  be  his  last.  I  took  my 
leave,  requesting  him  to  intrust  me  with 
his  testamentai-y  commissions  for  the 
village.  He  said  they  had  been  taken 
charge  of  long  ago,  and  the  children 
knew  them.  He  cut  a  twig  from  a 
Christmas-tree,  coeval  in  his  childhood, 
and  presented  me  with  it  as  a  keepsake. 

In  the  beautiful  summer  evening,  I 
could  not  refi-ain  from  stealthily  ap- 
proaching the  house,  through  the  or- 
chard, to  ascertain  whether  the  good  old 
man  had  ended  his  Bible  and  his  life  to- 
gether. On  the  way,  I  found  the  torn 
envelope  of  a  letter,  sealed  with  a  black 
•seal,  and  over  me  the  white  storks  were 
speeding  their  way  to  a  warmer  country. 
I  was  not  much  encouraged  when  I  heard 
all  the  birds  singing  in  his  orchard,  for 
their  ancestors  had  done  the  same  when 
his  father  died.  A  towering  cloud,  full 
of  the  latest  twilight,  spread  itself  before 
my  short-sighted  vision,  like  a  far-off, 
blooming,  foreign  landscape  ;  and  I  could 
not  comprehend  how  it  was  that  I  had 
never  before  noticed  this  strange-looking, 
reddish  land;  so  much  the  more  easily 
did  it  occur  to  me  that  this  might  be  his 
Orient,  whither  God  was  leading  the 
tveary  one.  I  had  become  so  confused 
as  actually  to  mistake  red  bean-blossoms 
for  a  bit  of  fallen  sunset.  Presently  I 
heai'd  a  man  singing,  to  the  accompani- 
ment of  an  oi-gan.  It  was  the  aged  man 
singing  his  evening  hj-mn: 

"Lord  of  my  life,  another  day 
Once  more  hath  sped  away." 

The  birds  in  the  room,  and  those  in 
the  distant  branches,  also,  chimed  in 
with  his  song.     The  bees,  too,  joined  in 


with  their  humming,  as  in  the  warm 
summer  evening  they  dived  into  the 
cups  of  the  linden-blossoms.  My  joy 
kindled  into  a  flame.  He  was  alive !  But 
I  would  not  disturb  his  holy  evening.  I 
would  let  him  remain  with  Him  who 
had  surrounded  him  with  gifts  and  with 
years,  and  not  call  upon  him  to  think  of 
any  man  here  below.  I  listened  to  the 
last  verso  of  his  hymn,  that  I  might  be 
still  more  certain  of  the  actual  continu^ 
ance  of  his  life,  and  then  tardily  I  slipped 
away.  To  my  joy,  I  still  found,  in  the 
eternal  youth  of  Nature,  beautiful  refer- 
ences to  his  lengthened  age;  from  the 
everlasting  rippling  of  the  bi'ook  in  the 
meadow  to  a  late  swarm  of  bees,  which 
had  settled  themselves  on  a  linden  tree, 
probably  in  the  forenoon,  before  two 
o'clock,  as  if,  by  taking  their  lodging 
with  him,  he  was  to  be  their  bee-father, 
and  continue  to  live.  Every  star  twin- 
kled to  me  a  hope. 

I  went  to  the  orchard  very  early  in  the 
morning,  wishing  to  look  upon  the  aged 
man  in  sleep — death's  angel  prelude,  the 
warm  dream  of  cold  death.  But  he  was 
reading,  and  had  read,  in  his  large 
printed  Bible,  far  beyond  the  deluge,  as 
I  could  see  by  the  engravings.  1  held 
it  to  be  a  duty  not  to  interrupt  his  soli- 
tude long.  I  told  him  I  was  going  away, 
and  gave  him  a  little  farewell  billet,  in- 
stead of  farewell  words..  1  was  much 
moved,  though  silent.  It  was  not  the 
kind  of  emotion  with  which  we  take 
leave  of  a  I'riend,  or  a  youth,  or  an  old 
man;  it  was  like  parting  from  a  remote 
stranger-being,  who  scarcely  glances  at 
us  from  the  high,  cold  clouds  which  hold 
him  between  the  earth  and  the  sun. 
There  is  a  stillness  of  soul  which  resem- 
bles the  stillness  of  bodies  on  a  frozen 
sea,  or  on  high  mountains;  every  loud 
tone  is  an  interruption  too  prosaically 
harsh,  as  in  the  softest  adagio.  Even 
those  words,  "for  the  last  time,"  the  old 
man  had  long  since  left  behind  him. 
Yet  he  hastily  presented  to  me  my  favorite 
flower,  a  blue  Spanish  vetch  in  an  earthen 


36 


SUNDAY   BOOK   OF 


pot.  This  butterfly  flower  is  the  sweeter 
inasmuch  as  it  so  easily  exhales  its  per- 
fume and  dies.  He  said  he  had  not  3'et 
sung  the  usual  morning  hymn,  Avhich 
folloAved  the  service  of  liis  death-even- 
ing; and  he  begged  me  not  to  take  it 
amiss  that  he  did  not  accompany  me,  or 
once  look  after  me,  especially  as  he  could 
not  see  very  well.  He  then  added,  al- 
most with  emotion,  "O  friend,  may  you 
live  virtuously!  We  shall  meet  again, 
where  my  departed  relatives  will  be 
present,  and  also  that  great  preacher, 
whose  name  I  have  forgotten.  AYe  meet 
again." 

He  turned  immediately,  quite  tran- 
quilly to  his  organ.  I  pai'ted  from  him 
as  from  a  life.  He  played  from  his  organ 
beneath  the  trees,  and  his  face  was  turned 
toward  me;  but  to  his  dim  ej-es  I  knew 
that  1  should  soon  become  a  motionless 
cloud.  So  1  remained  till  he  began  his 
morning  hymn,  from  old  Neander  : 

"Tlie  Lord  still  leaves  me  living, 
I  hasten  liini  to  praise; 
My  joyful  spirit  giving, 
He  hears  my  early  lays." 

.  While  he  was  singing,  the  birds  flew 
round  him;  the  dogs,  accustomed  to  the 
music,  were  silent;  and  it  even  Avafted 
the  swarm  of  bees  into  their  hive.  Bov/ed 
down  as  he  was  by  age,  his  figure  was 
so  tall  that,  from  the  distance  where  I 
stood,  he  looked  sufficiently  erect.  I  re- 
mained until  the  old  man  had  sung  the 
twelfth  and  last  verse  of  his  morning 
hymn : 

"Ready  my  cause  to  finish, 
And  come,  O  God,  to  Thee; 
A  conscience  pure  I  clierish, 
Till  death  shall  summon  me." 


THE  GOOD  OLD  GRANDMOTHER. 

O  softly  wave  the  silver  hair 
From  off  that  aged  brow ! 

That  crown  of  glory  worn  so  long 
A  fitting  crown  is  now. 


Fold  reverently  the  weary  hands 
That  toiled  so  long  and  well; 

And  while  your  tears  of  sorrow  fall, 
Let  sweet  thanksgiving  swell. 

That    life-work,    stretching    o'er    long 
years, 

A  varied  web  has  been; 
With  silver  strands  by  sorrow  wrought, 

And  sunny  gleams  between. 

These  silver  hairs  stole  softly  on, 
Like  flakes  of  falling  snow, 

That  wrap  the  green  earth  lovingly, 
When  autumn  breezes  blow. 

Each  silver  hair,  each  wrinkle  there, 
Eecords  some  good  deed  done ; 

Some  flower  she  cast  along  the  way. 
Some  spark  from  love's  bright  sun. 

How  bright  she  always  made  her  home  ! 

It  seemed  as  if  the  floor 
Was  always  flecked  with  spots  of  sun, 

And  barred  with  brightness  o'er. 

The  very  falling  of  her  step 

Made  music  as  she  went; 
A  loving  song  was  on  her  lips, 

The  song  of  fidl  content. 

And  now,  in  later  years,  her  word 

Has  been  a  blessed  thing 
In  many  a  home,  where  glad  she  saw 

Her  children's  children  spring. 

Her  widowed  life  has  happy  been, 
With  brightness  born  of  heaven, 

So  pearl  and  gold  in  drapery  fold 
The  sunset  couch  at  even. 

O,  gently  fold  the  wearj^  hands 
That  toiled  so  long  and  well ; 

The  spirit  rose  to  angel  bands,         • 
When  off"  earth's  mantle  fell. 

She's  safe  within  her  Father's  house, 

Where  many  mansions  be; 
O,  pray  that  thus  such  rest  may  come, 

Dear  heart,  to  thee  a^id  me  I 


PLEASIKa   AND    C03IP0ETIXG    LITERATUEE 


THE  HOUR  OF  SETTING  DAT. 

rThe  foul  ipirit  of  detraction  wai  the  orlgla  ot  theie  beau- 
tiful llaea  from  a  pure  heart.  The  authoresi  wai  an  elderly 
lady,  a  widow,  Mra.  Browne,  of  Muuaou,  .vlaia.,  who  had 
thrown  upon  her  the  reipontibility  ot  a  Uouae  lull  of  Uttlo 
children,  of  whom  (he  wai  the  loving  grandmother.  Weary 
and  heareu-laden  with  her  mauy  caret,  die  wa«  accuaiomed 
tt  evening  to  retire  tor  a  biiet  period  to  the  teciuiiion  of  an 
irbor  for  quiet  meditation  aud  aeoret  prayer.  Thia  •eeming 
aefleet  of  her  liouiehoid  dutie*  occasioned  unhappy  com- 
lueata  from  some  of  her  neishbori,  whicu  coming  to  the 
ears  of  thU  humble  dsujjhter  ot  God,  drew  lorta  from  her 
an  apology  in  tbeie  aweet  versea.  Aa  ahe  wrote  It,  the  ez- 
preeaion  "from  every  cumbering  care,"  waa  "from  little 
one*  and  care." 

riiia  hymu  waa  the  remote  cauae  of  another  of  perhapa  equal 
merit.  Aa  detraction  originated  the  one,  ao  lelUanueaa  origi- 
nated the  other.  Dr.  Leonard  Bacon,  ot  New  Haven,  ap. 
(jiled  to  the  puuUahera  of  the  hymu-booix,  lu  wuicu  ilra. 
Browue'a  poem  arat  appeared,  for  permiiaion  to  copy  it  lur  k 
pullection  which  he  waa  coraplliug.  Tun  oeiug  reiuaed,  he 
worie  aome  linea  ezpretalng  almiiar  thouguta:  "  f'tia  £ven- 
Ing  Hour,"  which  we  alao  give,  and  below  the  otner.  iloth 
are  curioua  inataucea  of  a  frequent  reiuit,  la  i^rerilence,  oi 
(Til  producing  good.J 

I  love  to  steal  awhile  away 
From  every  cumbering  care, 

And  spend  the  hour  of  setting  day 
In  humble  grateful  prayer. 

I  love  in  solitude  to  shed 

The  penitential  tear, 
And  all  his  promises  to  plead, 

When  none  but  God  is  near. 

I  love  to  think  on  mercies  past, 
And  future  good  implore; 

And  all  my  cares  and  sorrows  cast 
On  him  whom  I  adore. 

I  love  by  faith  to  take  a  view 
Of  brighter  scenes  in  Heaven  ; 

The  prospect  doth  my  strength  renew, 
While  here  by  temjiests  driven. 

And  when  life's  toilsome  day  is  o'er. 

May  its  departing  ray 
Be  calm  as  this  impressive  hour, 

And  lead  to  endless  day. 


THE  EVENING  HOUE. 


Da.   LEONARD   BACON. 


Hail,  tranquil  hour  of  closing  day! 

Begone  disturbing  care! 
And  look,  my  soul,  from  earth  away 

To  him  who  heareth  prayer. 

How  sweet  the  tear  of  penitence, 
Before  his  throne  of  grace; 

While  to  the  contrite  spirit's  sense, 
He  shows  his  smiling  face. 
30 


How  sweet  through  long-remembered  years 

His  mercies  to  recall, 
And  pressed  with  wants,  and  griefs,  aud  fears, 

To  trust  his  love  for  all. 

How  sweet  to  look  in  thoughtful  hope 

Beyond  the  fading  sky. 
And  hear  them  call  his  children  up 

To  his  fair  home  on  high. 

Calmly  the  day  forsakes  our  heaven 

To  dawn  beyond  the  west; 
So  let  my  soul  in  Life's  last  even 

Retire  to  glorious  rest. 


THE  SUMMEE  MORNING. 

How  beautiful  the  morning  when  summer  days 

are  long; 
0  we  will  rise  betimes  and  hear  the  wild-bird's 

happy  song; 
For  when  the  sun  pours  down  his  ray,  the  bird 

will  cease  to  sing; 
She  '11  seek  the  cool  and  silent  shade,  and  sit  with 

folded  wing. 

Up  in  the  morning  early,  't  is  Nature's  gayest 
hour! 

While  pearls  of  dew  adorn  the  grass  and  fra- 
grance fills  the  flower. 

Up  in  the  morning  early,  and  we  will  walk 
abroad. 

And  fill  our  hearts  with  melody,  and  raise  oui 
songs  to  God. 


LITTLE  CHEISTEL. 


Going  home  from  the  house  of  God, 

The  flower  at  lier  foot,  and  the  sun  overhead, 

Little  Christel  so  tliouglitt'ully  trod, 
Pondering  what  the  preuclier  had  said. 

"Even  the  youngest,  humblest  child, 
iSomething  may  do  to  please  the  Lord." 

"  Kow  what,"    thought  she,   and   half  sadly 
smiled, 
"Can  I,  so  little  and  poor,  afford?" 

"  Never,  never  a  day  should  pass 

Without  some  kindness,  kindly  shown." 

Little  Christel  looked  down  at  the  grass 
Rising  like  incense  before  tlie  throne. 

'■  Well,  a  day  is  before  me  now, 

Yet  what,''  thought  she,  "can  I  do,  if  I  try? 
It  an  angel  of  God  should  show  me  liow, 

But  silly  am  1,  and  the  hours  they  fly." 


3S 


SUNDAY    BOOK    OF 


Then  a  lark  sprang  singing  up  from  the  sod, 
And  Christel  thought,  as  he  rose  to  the  blue, 

"Perhaps  he  will  carry  my  prayer  to  God, 
But  who  would  have  thought  the  little  lark 
knew  ?" 


Now  she  entered  the  village  street. 
With  book  in  hand,  and  face  demure, 

And  soon  she  came,  with  sober  feet, 
To  a  crying  babe  at  a  cottage  door. 

The  child  had  a  windmill  that  would  not  move, 
It  puffed  with  its  round  red  cheeks  in  vain. 

One  sail  stuck  fast  in  a  puzzling  groove, 
And  baby's  breath  could  not  stir  it  again. 

Poor  baby  beat  the  sail,  and  cried. 

While  no  one  came  from  the  cottage  door; 

But  little  Christel  knelt  down  by  its  side, 
And  set  the  windmill  going  once  more. 

Then  babe  was  pleased,  and  the  little  girl 
Was  glad  when  she  heard  it  laugh  and  crow; 

Thinking,   happy   windmill,  that  has   but    to 
whirl. 
To  please  the  pretty  young  creature  so. 


Xo  thought  of  herself  was  in  her  head. 
As  she  passed  out  at  the  end  of  the  street, 

And  came  to  a  rose-tree  tall  and  red. 

Drooping  and  faint  with  the  summer  heat 

She  ran  to  a  brook  that  was  flowing  by; 

She  made  of  her  two  hands  a  nice  round  cup, 
And  washed  the  roots  of  the  rose-tree  high, 

Till  it  lifted  its  languid  blossoms  up. 

"  0,  happy  brook!"  thought  little  Christel, 
"You  have  done  some  good  this  summer's 
day. 

You  have  made  the  flower  look  fresh  and  well ;" 
Then  she  rose,  and  went  on  her  way. 

IV. 

But  she  saw,  as  she  walked  by  the  side  of  the 

brook, 

Some  great  rough  stones  that  troubled  its 

course; 

And  the  gurgling  water  seemed  to  say,  "  Look  I 

I  struggle,  and  tumble,  and  murmur  hoarse  ! 

"  How  these  stones  obstruct  my  road ! 

How  I  wish  they  were  off  and  gone; 
Then  I  could  flow,  as  once  I  flowed, 

Singing  in  silvery  undertone." 


Then  little  Christel,  as  light  as  a  bird. 

Put  off  the  shoes  from  her  young  white  feet; 

She  moves  two  stones,  she  comes  to  the  third, 
The  brook  already  sings,  "  Thanks  to  you 
sweet!" 

0,  then  she  hears  the  lark  in  the  skies, 

And  thinks,  "  What  is  it  to  God  he  says?" 

And  she  stumbles,  and  falls,  and  can  not  rise, 
For  the  water  stifles  her  downward  face. 

The  little  brook  flows  on  as  before, 

The  little  lark  sings  with  as  sweet  a  sound; 

The  little  babe  crows  at  the  cottage  door; 
And  the  red  rose  blooms,  but  Christel  lies 
drowned. 

V. 

Come  in  softly,  this  is  the  room; 

Is  not  that  an  innocent  face? 
Yes,  those  flowers  give  a  faint  perfume — 

Think  child,  of  Heaven,  and  the  Lord  his 
grace. 

Three  at  the  right,  and  three  at  the  left, 
Two  at  the  feet,  and  two  at  the  head. 

The  tapers  burn.     The  friends  bereft. 

Have  cried  till  their  eyes  are  swollen  and  red. 

Who  would  have  thought  it  when  little  Christ ?] 

Pondered  on  what  the  preacher  had  told? 
But  the  good  wise  God  does  all  things  well. 
And  the  fair  voung  creature  lies  dead  and  coll 


Then  a  little  stream  crept  into  the  place, 
And  rippled  up  to  the  coffin's  side, 

And  touched  the  corpse  on  its  pale  round  face, 
And  kissed  the  eyes  till  they  trembled  wide. 

Saying,  "  I  am  a  river  of  joy  from  Heaven  ; 

You  helped  the  brook,  and  I  help  you, 
I  sprinkle  your  brow  with  life-drops  seven, 

I  bathe  your  eyes  with  healing  dew. 

Then  a  rose-branch    in   through  the  window 
came. 

And  colored  her  cheeks  and  lips  with  red; 
"  I  remember,  and  Heaven  does  the  same," 

Was  all  that  the  faithful  rose-branch  saitL 

Then  a  bright  small  form  to  her  cold   neck 
clung. 

It  breathed  on  her  till  her  breast  did  fill. 
Saying,  "  I  am  a  cherub  fond  and  young. 

And  I  saw  who  breathed  on  the  baby's  mill." 


PLEASING    AND    COMFOETINO    LITEEATUEE. 


39 


Tlien  little  Christel  sat  up  and  smiled, 

And  said,    "Who  put  these  flowers  in  my 
hand?" 

And  rubbed  her  eyes,  poor  innocent  child, 
Not  being  able  to  understand. 


But  soon  she  heard  the  big  bell  of  tlie  church 
Give  the  hour,  which  made  her  say, 

"Ah!  I  have  slept  and  dreamed  in  the  porch; 
It  is  a  very  drowsy  day." 


OMNISCIENCE  AND  OMNIPRESENCE  OF  DEITY. 


JOSEPH   ADDISON. 


I  "WAS  yesterday,  about  sunset,  walk- 
ing in  the  open  fields,  till  the  night  in- 
sensibly fell  upon  me.  I  at  first  amused 
myself  with  all  the  richness  and  variety 
of  colors  which  appeared  in  the  western 
parts  of  heaven;  in  proportion  as  they 
faded  away  and  went  out,  several  stars 
and  planets  appeared  one  after  another, 
till  the  whole  firmament  was  in  a  glow. 
The  blueness  of  the  ether  was  exceed- 
ingly heightened  and  enlivened  by  the 
season  of  the  year,  and  the  rays  of  all 
those  luminaries  that  passed  through  it. 
The  galaxy  appeared  in  its  most  beau- 
tiful white.  To  complete  the  scene,  the 
full  moon  rose  at  length  in  that  clouded 
majesty  which  Milton  takes  notice  of, 
and  opened  to  the  eye  a  new  picture  of 
nature,  which  was  more  finely  shaded, 
and  disposed  among  softer  lights,  than 
that  which  the  sun  had  before  discovered 
to  us. 

As  I  was  surveying  the  moon  walking 
in  her  brightness,  and  taking  her  prog- 
ress among  the  constellations,  a  thought 
arose  in  me,  which  I  believe  very  often 
perplexes  and  disturbs  men  of  serious 
and  contemplative  natures.  David  him- 
self fell  into  it  in  that  reflection,  "When 
I  consider  the  heavens  the  work  of  thy 
hands,  the  moon  and  the  stars  which  thou 
hast  ordained,  what  is  man  that  thou  art 
mindful  of  him,  and  the  son  of  man  that 
thou    reijardest    him?"      In    the   same 


manner,  when  I  consider  that  infinite 
host  of  stars,  or,  to  speak  more  philo- 
sophically, of  suns,  which  were  then 
shining  upon  me,  with  those  innumer- 
able sets  of  planets  or  worlds,  which 
were  moving  round  their  respective 
suns;  when  I  still  enlarged  the  idea, 
and  supposed  another  heaven  of  suns 
and  worlds  rising  still  above  this  which 
we  discovered,  and  these  still  enlight- 
ened by  a  superior  firmament  of  lumi- 
naries, which  are  planted  at  so  great  a 
distance,  that  they  may  appear  to  the 
inhabitants  of  the  former  as  the  stars 
do  to  us;  in  short,  while  I  pursued  this 
thought,  I  could  not  but  reflect  on  that 
little  insignificant  figure  which  I  myself 
bore  amidst  the  immensity  of  God's 
works. 

Were  the  sun,  which  enlightens  this 
part  of  the  creation,  Avith  all  the  host  of 
planetary  worlds  that  move  about  him, 
utterly  extinguished  and  annihilated, 
they  would  not  be  missed,  more  than  a 
grain  of  sand  upon  the  sea-shore.  The 
space  they  possess  is  so  exceedingly  lit- 
tle in  comparison  of  the  whole,  it  would 
scarce  make  a  blank  in  the  creation. 
The  chasm  would  be  imperceptible  to 
an  eye  that  could  take  in  the  Avholo 
compass  of  nature,  and  pass  from  one 
end  of  the  creation  to  the  other,  as  it 
is  possible  there  may  be  such  a  sense 
in  ourselves  hereafter,  or  to  creatures 
which  are  more  exalted  than  ourselves. 
We  see  many  stars  by  the  help  of  glass- 
es, which  we  do  not  discover  Avith  our 
naked  eyes,  and  the  finer  our  telescopes 
are,  the  more  still  are  our  discoveries. 
Iluygenius  carries  this  thought  so  far, 
that  ho  does  not  think  it  iiupossiblo 
there  may  be  stars  Avhose  light  has  not 
yet  traA^eled  doAvn  to  us  since  their  first 
creation.  There  is  no  question  but  the 
universe  has  certain  bounds  set  to  it; 
but  Avhen  wo  consider  that  it  is  the 
Avork  of  infinite  poAver,  prompted  by  in- 
finite goodness,  Avith  an  infinite  space 
to  exert  itself  in,  hoAV  can  our  imagina- 
tion set  any  bounds  to  it? 


40 


SUNDAY    BOOE:    OF 


To  return,  therefore,  to  my  first 
thought,  I  could  not  but  look  upon  my- 
self with  secret  horror,  as  a  being  that 
was  not  worth  the  smallest  regard  of 
one  who  had  so  great  a  work  under  his 
care  and  superintendency.  I  was  afraid 
of  being  overlooked  in  the  immensity 
of  nature,  and  lost  among  that  infinite 
variety  of  creatures,  which  in  all  jjroba- 
bility  swarm  through  all  these  immeas- 
urable regions  of  matter. 

In  order  to  recover  myself  from  this 
mortifying  thought,  I  considered  that  it 
took  its  rise  from  those  narrow  concep- 
tions which  we  are  apt  to  entertain  of 
the  divine  nature.  We  ourselves  can 
not  attend  to  many  different  objects  at 
the  same  time.  If  we  are  careful  to  in- 
spect some  things,  we  must,  of  course, 
neglect  others.  This  imperfection, 
which  we  observe  in  ourselves,  is  an 
imperfection  that  cleaves,  in  some  de- 
gree, to  creatures  of  the  highest  capaci- 
ties, as  they  are  creatures,  that  is,  be- 
ings, of  finite  and  limited  natures.  The 
presence  of  every  created  being  is  con- 
fined to  a  certain  measure  orspace,  and, 
consequently,  his  observation  is  stinted 
to  a  certain  number  of  objects.  The 
sphere  in  which  we  move,  and  act,  and 
understand,  is  of  a  wider  circumference 
to  one  creature  than  another,  according 
as  we  rise  one  above  another  in  the 
scale  of  existence.  Bvit  the  widest  of 
these  our  spheres  has  its  circumference. 
When,  therefore,  we  reflect  on  the  di- 
vine nature,  we  are  so  used  and  accus- 
tomed to  this  imperfection  in  ourselves, 
that  we  can  not  forbear,  in  some  meas- 
ure, ascribing  it  to  him  in  whom  there 
is  no  shadow  of  imperfection.  Our  rea- 
son, indeed,  assures  us  that  his  at- 
tributes are  infinite  ;  but  the  poorness 
of  our  conceptions  is  such  that  it  can 
not  forbear  setting  bounds  to  every 
thing  it  contemplates,  till  our  reason 
comes  again  to  our  succor,  and  throws 
down  all  those  little  prejudices  which 
rise  in  us  unawares,  and  are  natural  to 
the  mind  of  man. 


We  shall,  therefore,  utterly  extin- 
guish this  melancholy  thought,  of  our 
being  overlooked  by  our  Maker  in  the 
multiplicity  of  his  works,  and  the  in- 
finity of  those  objects  among  which  he 
seems  to  be  incessantly  employed,  if  we 
consider,  in  the  first  place,  that  he  is 
omnipresent,  and,  in  the  second,  that  he 
is  omniscient. 

If  we  consider  him  in  his  omnipres- 
ence, his  being  passes  through,  actuates, 
and  supports  the  whole  frame  of  nature. 
His  creation,  and  every  part  of  it,  is  full 
of  him.  There  is  nothing  he  has  made 
that  is  either  so  distant,  so  little,  or  so 
inconsiderable  which  he  does  not  essen- 
tially inhabit.  His  substance  is  within 
the  substance  of  every  being,  whethei 
material  or  immaterial,  and  as  intimately 
present  to  it  as  that  being  is  to  itself 
It  would  be  an  imperfection  in  him 
were  he  able  to  move  out  of  one  place 
into  another,  or  to  draw  himself  from 
any  thing  he  has  created,  or  from  any 
part  of  that  space  which  he  diffused  and 
spread  abroad  to  infinity.  In  short,  to 
speak  of  him  in  the  language  of  the  old 
philosophers,  he  is  a  being  whose  cen- 
ter is  every- where,  and  his  circumfer- 
ence nowhere. 

In  the  second  place,  he  is  omniscient 
as  well  as  omnipresent.  His  omnis- 
cience, indeed,  necessarily  and  naturally 
flows  from  his  omnipresence.  He  can 
not  but  be  conscious  of  every  motion 
that  arises  in  the  whole  material  world, 
which  he  thus  essentially  pervades;  and 
of  every  thought  that  is  stirring  in  the 
intellectual  world,  to  every  part  of 
which  he  is  thus  intimately  united. 
Several  moralists  have  considered  the 
creation  as  the  temple  of  God,  which  he 
has  built  with  his  own  hands,  and  which 
is  filled  with  his  presence.  Others  have 
considered  infinite  space  as  a  receptacle^ 
or,  rather,  the  habitation  of  the  Al- 
mighty ;  but  the  noblest  and  most  ex- 
alted way  of  considering  this  infinite 
space  is  that  of  Sir  Isaac  Newton,  who 
calls  it  the  sensorium  of  the  Godhead. 


PLEASING   AND    COMFOETING   LITEKATUEE. 


41 


Brutes  and  men  have  their  sensoriola,  or 
little  sensoriums,  by  which  they  appre- 
hend the  presence  and  perceive  the  ac- 
tions of  a  few  objects  that  lie  contigu- 
ous to  them.  Their  knowledge  and  ob- 
servation turn  within  a  very  narrow 
circle.  But  as  God  Almighty  can  not 
but  perceive,  and  know  every  thing  in 
which  he  resides,  infinite  space  gives 
room  to  infinite  knowledge,  and  is,  as 
it  were,  an  organ  to  omniscience. 

Were  the  soul  separate  from  the  body, 
and  with  one  glance  or  thought  should 
start  beyond  the  bounds  of  the  creation  ; 
should  it  for  millions  of  years  continue 
its  progress  through  infinite  space  with 
the  same  activity,  it  would  still  find 
itself  within  the  embrace  of  its  Creator, 
and  encompassed  round  with  the  im- 
mensity of  the  Godhead.  While  we  are 
in  the  body,  he  is  not  less  present  with 
us  because  he  is  concealed  from  us.  "  Oh 
that  I  knew  where  I  might  find  him!" 
says  Job.  "Behold  I  go  forward,  but  he 
is  not  there ;  and  backward,  but  I  can 
not  perceive  him;  on  the  left  hand, 
where  he  does  work,  but  I  can  not  be- 
hold him ;  he  hideth  himself  on  the 
right  hand  that  I  can  not  see  him."  In 
short,  reason  as  well  as  revelation  as- 
sure us  that  he  can  not  be  absent  from 
us,  notwithstanding  he  is  undiscovered 
by  us. 

Now,  in  this  consideration  of  God 
Almighty's  omnipresence  and  omnis- 
cience, cveiy  uncomfortable  thought 
vanishes.  He  can  not  but  regard  every 
thing  that  has  being,  especially  such  of 
his  creatures  who  fear  they  arc  not  re- 
garded by  him.  He  is  privy  to  all  their 
thoughts,  and  to  the  anxiety  of  heart  in 
particular,  which  is  apt  to  trouble  them 
on  this  occasion  ;  for,  as  it  is  impossible 
he  should  overlook  any  of  his  creatures, 
60  we  may  be  confident  that  he  regards, 
with  an  eye  of  mercy,  those  who  en- 
deavor to  recommend  themselves  to  his 
notice,  and  in  unfeigned  humility  of 
heart  think  themselves  unworthy  that 
he  should  be  mindful  of  them.. 


OUE    IMPERFECT    KNOWLEDGE   OF  A  FUTURE 
STATE,  SUITED  TO  THE  CONDITION  OF  MAN. 

[Hugh  Blair,  D.D. ;  boru  in  Ediubuig  iu  1713.] 

The  skeptic,  who  is  dissatisfied  with 
the  obscurity  which  Divine  Providence 
has  wisely  thrown  over  the  future  state, 
conceives  that  more  information  would 
be  reasonable  and  salutary.  He  desires 
to  have  his  view  enlarged  beyond  the 
limits  of  this  corporeal  scene.  Instead 
of  resting  upon  evidence  which  requires 
discussion,  which  must  be  supported  by 
much  reasoning,  and  which,  after  all, 
he  alleges,  yields  very  imperfect  infor- 
mation, he  demands  the  everlasting 
mansions  to  be  so  displayed  as  to  place 
faith  on  a  level  with  the  evidence  of 
sense.  "  What  noble  and  happy  effects," 
he  exclaims,  "would  instantly  follow, 
if  man  thus  beheld  his  present  and  his  fu- 
ture existence  at  once  before  him!  Ho 
would  then  become  worthy  of  his  rank 
in  the  creation.  Instead  of  being  the 
sport,  as  now,  of  degrading  passions 
and  childish  attachments,  he  would  act 
solely  on  the  principles  of  immortality. 
His  pursuit  of  virtue  would  be  steady, 
his  life  would  be  undisturbed  and  happy. 
Superior  to  the  attacks  of  distress  and 
to  the  solicitations  of  pleasure,  he  would 
advance,  by  a  regular  progress,  toward 
those  divine  rewards  and  honors  which 
were  continually  present  to  his  view." 
Thus  fancy,  with  as  much  ease  and  con- 
fidence as  if  it  were  a  perfect  judge  of 
creation,  erects  a  new  world  to  itself, 
and  exults  with  admiration  of  its  own 
work.  But  let  us  pause,  and  suspend 
this  admiration,  till  we  coolly  examine 
the  consequences  that  would  follow  from 
this  supposed  reformation  of  the  uni- 
vei'se. 

Consider  the  nature  and  circumstances 
of  man.  Introduced  into  the  world  in, 
an  indigent  condition,  he  is  supported  at 
first  b}^  the  care  of  others;  and,  as  soon 
as  he  begins  to  act  for  himself,  finds  la- 
bor and  industry  to  be  necessary  for 
sustaining  his  life  and  supplying  his 
wants.      Mutual    defenso    and    interest 


42 


SUKDAY    BOOK    OF 


give  rise  to  society;  and  society,  when 
formed,  requires  distinctions  of  property, 
diversity  of  conditions,  subordination  of 
ranks,  and  a  multiplicity  of  occupations, 
in  order  to  advance  the  general  good. 
The  services  of  the  poor  and  the  pro- 
tection of  the  rich  become  reciprocally 
necessary.  The  governors  and  the  gov- 
erned must  cooperate  for  general  safety. 
Various  arts  must  be  studied — some  re- 
specting the  cultivation  of  the  mind, 
others  the  care  of  the  body;  some  to 
ward  off  the  evils,  and  some  to  provide 
the  conveniences  of  life.  In  a  word,  by 
the  destination  of  his  Creator,  and  the 
necessities  of  his  nature,  man  com- 
mences at  once  an  active,  not  merely  a 
contemplative,  being.  Heligion  assumes 
him  as  such.  It  supposes  him  employed 
in  this  world  as  on  a  busy  stage.  It 
regulates,  but  does  not  abolish  the  en- 
terprise and  cares  of  ordinary  life.  It 
addresses  itself  to  the  various  ranks  in 
society — to  the  rich  and  to  the  poor,  to 
the  magistrate  and  the  subject.  It  re- 
bukes the  slothful,  directs  the  diligent 
how  to  labor,  and  requires  every  man  to 
do  his  own  business. 

Suppose,  now,  that  vail  to  be  with- 
drawn, which  conceals  anothei'  world 
from  our  view.  Let  all  obscurity  van- 
ish, let  us  no  longer  "see  darkly,  as 
through  a  glass;"  but  let  every  man  en- 
joy that  intuitive  perception  of  divine 
and  eternal  objects,  which  the  skeptic 
was  supposed  to  desire.  The  immediate 
effect  of  such  a  discovery  would  be  to 
annihilate,  in  our  eye,  all  human  objects, 
and  to  produce  a  total  stagnation  in  the 
affairs  of  the  Avorld.  Were  the  celestial 
glory  exposed  to  our  admiring  view,  did 
the  angelic  harmony  sound  in  our  enrap- 
tured ears,  what  earthly  concerns  could 
have  the  power  of  engagi  ng  our  attention 
for  a  single  moment?  All  the  studies  and 
pursuits,  the  arts  and  labors,  which  now 
employ  the  activity  of  man,  which  sup- 
port the  order,  or  promote  the  happiness 
of  society,  would  lie  neglected  and  aban- 
doned.    Those  desires  and  fears,  those 


hopes  and  interests,  by  which  we  are  at 
present  stimulated,  would  cease  to  ope- 
rate. Human  life  would  present  no  ob- 
jects sufficient  to  rouse  the  mind,  to  kin- 
dle the  spirit  of  enterprise,  or  to  urge  the 
hand  of  industry.  If  the  mere  sense  of 
duty  engaged  a  good  man  to  take  some 
part  in  the  business  of  the  world ,  the  task, 
when  submitted  to,  would  prove  distaste- 
ful. Even  the  preservation  of  life  would 
be  slighted,  if  he  were  not  bound  to  it  by 
the  authority  of  Grod.  Impatient  of  his 
confinement  within  this  tabernacle  of 
dust,  languishing  for  the  happy  day  of 
his  translation  to  those  glorious  regions 
which  were  displayed  to  his  sight,  he 
would  sojourn  on  earth  as  a  melancholy 
exile.  Whatever  Providence  has  pre- 
pared for  the  entertainment  of  man  would 
be  viewed  with  contempt.  Whatever  is 
now  attractive  in  society  would  appear 
insij)id.  In  a  word,  he  would  be  no 
longer  a  fit  inhabitant  of  this  world,  noi 
be  qualified  for  those  exertions  which 
are  allotted  to  him  in  his  present  sphere 
of  being.  But,  all  his  faculties  being  sub- 
limated above  the  measure  of  humanity, 
he  would  be  in  the  condition  of  a  being 
of  superior  order,  who,  obliged  to  reside 
among  men,  would  regard  their  pursuits 
with  scorn,  as  dreams,  trifles,  and  puerile 
amusements  of  a  day. 

But  to  this  reasoning  it  may,  perhaps, 
be  replied  that  such  consequences  as  I 
have  now  stated,  supposing  them  to  fol- 
low, deserve  not  much  regard.  For  what 
though  the  present  arrangement  of  hu- 
man affairs  were  entirely  changed,  by  a 
clearer  view,  and  a  stronger  impression 
of  our  future  state,  would  not  such  a 
change  prove  the  highest  blessing  to 
man  ?  Is  not  this  attachment  to  worldly 
objects  the  great  source  both  of  his  misery 
and  his  guilt?  Employed  in  perpetual 
contemplation  of  heavenly  objects,  and. 
in  preparation  for  the  enjoyment  of  them, 
would  he  not  become  more  virtuous,  and, 
of  course,  more  happy,  than  the  nature 
of  his  present  employments  and  attach- 
ments permits  him  to  be?    Allowing,  for 


PLEASING    AND    COMFOETING    LITEBATURE, 


43 


a  moment,  the  consequence  to  be  such, 
this  much  is  yielded,  that,  upon  the  sup- 
position which  was  made,  man  would  not 
be  the  creature  which  he  now  is,  nor  hu- 
man life  the  state  which  we  now  behold. 
How  far  the  change  would  contribute  to 
his  welfare  comes  to  be  considered. 

If  there  be  any  principle  fully  ascer- 
tained by  religion,  it  is  that  this  life  was 
intended  for  a  state  of  trial  and  improve- 
ment to  man.  His  prej)aration  for  a  bet- 
ter world  required  a  gradual  purification, 
carried  on  by  steps  of  progressive  dis- 
cipline. The  situation,  therefore,  here 
assigned  him,  was  such  as  to  answer 
his  design,  by  calling  forth  all  his  active 
powers,  by  giving  full  scope  to  his  moral 
dispositions,  and  bringing  to  light  his 
whole  character.  Hence  it  became  proper 
that  difficulty  and  temptation  should  arise 
in  the  course  of  his  duty.  Ample  re- 
wards were  promised  to  virtue,  but  these 
rewards  were  left,  as  yet,  in  obscurity 
and  distant  prospect.  The  impressions 
of  sense  were  so  balanced  against  the  dis- 
coveries of  immortality  as  to  allow  a 
conflict  between  faith  and  sense,  between 
conscience  and  desire,  between  present 
pleasure  and  future  good.  In  this  conflict 
the  souls  of  good  men  are  tried,  improved, 
and  strengthened.  In  this  field  their 
honors  are  reaped.  Here  are  formed  the 
capital  virtues  of  fortitude,  temperance, 
fand  self-denial ;  moderation  in  pros- 
perity, patience  in  adversity,  submission 
to  the  will  of  Grod,  and  charity  and  for- 
giveness to  men,  amid  the  various  com- 
petitions of  worldly  interest. 

Such  is  the  plan  of  divine  wisdom  for 
man's  improvement.  But  put  the  case 
that  the  plan  devised  by  human  wisdom 
were  to  take  place,  and  that  the  rewards 
of  the  just  were  to  be  more  fully  displayed 
to  view,  the  exercise  of  all  those  graces 
which  I  have  mentioned,  would  be  en- 
tirely superseded.  Their  very  names 
would  be  unknoAvn.  Every  temptation 
being  withdrawn,  every  worldly  attach- 
ment being  subdued  by  the  overpowering 
discoveries  of  eternity,  no  trial  of  sin- 


cerity, no  discrimination  of  characters 
would  remain  ;  no  opportunity  would  be 
aftbrded  for  those  active  exertions  which 
are  the  means  of  purifying  and  perfect- 
ing the  good.  On  the  competition  be- 
tween time  and  eternity  depends  the 
chief  exercise  of  human  virtue.  The  ob- 
scurity which  at  present  hangs  over 
eternal  objects  preserves  the  competi- 
tion. Eemove  that  obscurity,  and  you 
remove  human  virtue  from  its  place. 
You  overthrow  that  whole  system  of 
discipline  by  which  imperfect  crdntures 
arc,  in  this  life,  gradually  trained  up  for 
a  more  pei'fect  state. 

This,  then,  is  the  conclusion  to  which 
at  last  we  arrive:  that  the  full  display 
which  was  demanded  of  the  heavenly 
glory  would  be  so  far  from  improving 
the  human  soul,  that  it  would  abolish 
those  virtues  and  duties  which  are  the 
great  instruments  of  its  improvement. 
It  would  be  unsuitable  to  the  character 
of  man  in  every  view,  either  as  an  active 
being  or  a  moral  agent.  It  would  dis- 
qualify him  from  taking  part  in  the  af- 
fairs of  the  world;  for  relishing  the 
pleasures  or  for  discharging  the  du- 
ties of  life;  in  a  word,  it  would  entirely 
defeat  the  purpose  of  his  being  placed  on 
this  earth.  And  the  question  why  the 
Almighty  has  been  pleased  to  leave  a 
spiritual  world  and  the  future  existence 
of  man  under  so  much  obscurity,  re- 
solves, in  the  end,  into  this:  Why  there 
should  be  such  a  creature  as  man  in  the 
universe  of  God.  Such  is  the  issue  of 
the  improvements  proposed  to  be  made 
on  the  plans  of  Providence.  They  add 
to  the  discoveries  of  the  superior  wisdom 
of  God,  and  of  the  presumption  and  folly 
of  man. 


THE  HOUR  OF  PRATER. 

MHS.   nEMA."«S- 

Child,  amidst  the  flowers  at  play, 
Wliile  the  red  light  fades  away; 
Mother,  with  thi'ne  earnest  eye, 
Ever  following  silently; 


44 


SUNDAY   BOOK    OF 


Father,  b}'  the  breeze  of  eve 
Called  by  harvest  work  to  leave — 
Pray:  ere  j'et  the  dark  hours  be, 
Lift  the  heart  and  bend  the  knee! 

Traveler,  in  the  stranger's  land, 
Far  from  thine  own  household  band; 
Mourner,  haunted  by  the  tone 
Of  a  voice  from  this  world  gone; 
Captive,  in  whose  narrow  cell 
Sunshine  hath  not  leave  to  dwell; 
Sailor,  on  the  darkening  sea. 
Lift  the  heart,  and  bend  the  knee ! 

Warrior,  that  from  battle  won 
Breath  est  now  at  set  of  sun  ; 
Woman,  o'er  the  lowly  slain 
Weeping  on  his  burial-plain  ; 
Ye  that  triumph,  3'e  that  sigh, 
Kindred  by  one  holy  tie. 
Heaven's  first  star  alike  je  see — 
Lift  the  heart,  and  bend  the  knee! 


THE  EVENING  BELLS. 


Those   evening  bells !    those   evening 

bella 
How  many  a  tale  their  music  tells 
Ofyouth,  and  home,  and  that  sweet  time 
When  last  I  heard  their  soothing  chime. 

Those  joyous  hours  are  passed  away; 
And  many  a  heart,  that  then  was  gay, 
Within  the  tomb  now  dark]}-  dwells, 
And  hears  no  more  those  evening  bells. 

And  so  'twill  be  when  I  am  gone; 
That  tuneful  peel  will  still  ring  on, 
While  other  bards  shall  walk  these  dells, 
And  sing  your   praise,   sweet  evening 
bells ! 


THE  THKEE  SOIJS. 
[JaniRS  Monltne,  an  English  clergyman ;  born  in  1799.1 

I  HAVE  a  son,  a  little  son,  a  boy  just  five 

years  old, 
With  eyes  of  thoughtful  earnestness,  and 

mind  of  gentle  mold. 


They  tell  me  that  unusual  grace  in  all 

his  vcajB  appears, 
That  my  child  is  grave  and  wise  of  heart 

beyond  his  childish  years. 
I  can  not  say  how  this  may  be,  I  know 

his  face  is  fair, 
And  yet  his  chiefest   comeliness  is  his 

sweet  and  serious  air; 
I  know  his  heart  is  kind  and  fond,  1 

know  he  loveth  me. 
But  loveth  yet  his   mother  more  with 

grateful  fervency ; 
But  that  which  others  most  admire  is  the 

thought  which  fills  his  mind, 
The  food  for  grave  inquiring  sj)eech  he 

eveiy-where  doth  find. 
Strange  questions  doth  he  ask  of  me, 

when  we  together  walk; 
He  scarcely  thinks  as  children  think,  or 

talks  as  children  talk. 
Nor  cares  he  much  for  childish  sports, 

dotes  not  on  bat  or  ball. 
But  looks  on  manhood's  ways  and  works, 

and  aptly  mimics  all. 
His  little  heart  is  busy  still,  and  often- 
times perplexed 
With  thoughts  about  this  world  of  ours, 

and  thoughts  about  the  next. 
He  kneels  at  his  dear  mother's,  knee,  she 

teacheth  him  to  pray. 
And  strange,  and  sweet,  and  solemn  then 

are  the  words  which  he  will  say. 
Oh,  should  my  gentle  child  be  spared  to 

manhood's  years  like  me, 
A  holier  and  a  wiser  man  I  trust  that  he 

will  be; 
And  when  I  look    into   his   eyes,  and 

stroke  his  thoughtful  brow, 
I  dare  not   think   what   I   should  feel, 

were  I  to  lose  him  now. 


I  have  a  son,  a  second  son,  a  simple  child 

of  three; 
I'll  not  declare  how  bright  and  fair  his 

little  features  be. 
How  silver  sweet  those  tones  of  his  when 

he  prattles  on  my  knee; 
I  do  not  think  his  light  blue  eye  is,  liko 

his  brother's,  keen, 


PLEASING    AXD    COMFORTING    LITEEATUEE 


45 


Nor  his  brow  so  full  of  childish  thought 

as  his  hath  ever  been  ; 
But  his  little  heart 's  a  fountain  pure  of 

kind  and  tender  feeling, 
And  his  every  look 's  a  gleam  of  light, 

rich  depths  of  love  revealing. 
When  he  walks  wirh  me,  the   country 

folk,  who  pass  us  in  tbe  street. 
Will  shout  for  joy,  and  bless  my  boy,  he 

looks  so  mild  and  sweet. 
A  playfellow  is  he  to  all,  and  yet,  with 

cheerful  tone, 
Will  sing  his  little  song  of  love,  when 

left  to  sport  alone. 
His  presence  is  like  sunshine  sent  to 

gladden  home  and  hearth. 
To   comfort  us  in  all  our   griefs,   and 

sweeten  all  our  mirth. 
Should  he  grow  up  to  riper  years,  God 

grant  his  heart  may  prove 
As  sweet  a  home  for  heavenly  grace  as 

now  for  earthly  love; 
Xnd  if,  beside  his  grave,  the  tears  our 

aching  eyes  must  dim, 
^od  comfort  us  for  all  the  love  which 

we  shall  lose  in  him. 


r  have  a  son,  a  third  sweet  son  ;  his  age 

I  can  not  tell, 
[''or  they  reckon  not  by  years  and  months 

where  he  is  gone  to  dwell. 
To  ns  for  fourteen  anxious  months,  his 

infant  smiles  were  given, 
iVnd  then  he  bade  farewell  to  Earth,  and 

went  to  live  in  Heaven. 
i  can  not  tell  what  form  his  is,  what 

looks  he  weareth  now, 
Nor  guess  how  bright  a  glory  crowns  his 

shining  seraph  brow. 
The  thoughts  that  fill  his  sinless  soul, 

the  bliss  which  he  doth  feel, 
Are  numbered  with  the  secret  things 

which  God  will  not  reveal. 
But  I  know  (for  God  hath  told  me  this) 

that  he  is  now  at  rest. 
Where  other  blest  saints  bo,  on  their 

Savior's  loving  breast. 
I  know  his   spirit  feels   no   more  this 

weary  load  of  flesh, 


But  his  sleep  is  blest  with  endless  dreams 

of  joy  forever  fresh. 
I  know  the  angels  fold  him  close  beneath 

their  glittering  wings. 
And  soot-he  him  with  a  song  that  breathes 

of  Heaven's  divinest  things. 
I  know  that  we  shall  meet  our  babe  (his 

mother  dear  and  I), 
Where  God  for  aye  shall  wipe  away  all 

tears  from  every  eye. 
Whate'er  befalls  his  brethren  twain,  his 

bliss  can  never  cease; 
Their  lot  may  here  be  grief  and  fear,  but 

his  is  certain  peace. 
It  may  be  that  the  tempter's  wiles  their 

soul's  from  bliss  may  sever. 
But,  if  our  own  poor  faith  fail  not,  he 

must  be  ours  forever. 
When  we  think  of  what  our  darling  is, 

and  what  we  still  must  be; 
When  we  muse  on  that  world's  perfect 

bliss,  and  this  world's  misery; 
When  we  groan  beneath  this  load  of  sin, 

and  feel  this  grief  and  pain. 
Oh !  we'd  rather  lose  our  other  two,  than 

have  him  here  again. 


THE  INSECT  OP  A  DAT. 


Aristotle  says,  that  upon  the  river 
Hypanis  there  exist  little  animals  who 
live  only  one  day.  Those  who  die  at 
eight  o'clock  in  the  morning,  die  in 
their  youth  ;  those  who  die  at  five  o'clock 
in  the  evening,  die  in  a  state  of  de- 
crepitude. 

Suppose  one  of  the  most  robust  of 
these  Hypanians  as  old,  according  to 
these  nations,  as  time  itself;  he  would 
have  begun  to  exist  at  the  break  of 
day,  and,  through  the  strength  of  his 
constitution,  Avould  have  been  enabled 
to  support  an  active  life  during  the  in- 
finite number  of  seconds  contained  in 
ten  or  twelve  hours.  During  so  long 
a  succession  of  instants,  by  his  own 
experience,  and  by  his  reflections  on 
all  he  had  seen,  he  must  have  acquired 
great  wisdom;  he  looks  upon  his  fel- 
lows that  have  died  at  noon  as  creatures 


16 


STJXDAY    BOOK    OF 


happily  delivered  from  the  great  num- 
ber of  infirmities  to  which  old  age  is 
subject.  He  may  have  to  relate  to  his 
grandsons  an  astonishing  tradition  of 
facts  anterior  to  all  the  memory  of  the 
nation.  The  young  swarm,  composed 
of  beings  who  have  lived  but  an  hour, 
approach  the  venerable  patriarch  with 
respect,  and  listen,  with  admiration,  to 
his  instructive  discourse.  Every  thing 
he  relates  to  them  appears  a  prodigy 
to  this  generation,  whose  life  has  been 
so  short.  A  day  appears  to  them  the 
CHtire  duration  of  time,  and  the  dawn 
of  day  would  be  called,  in  their  chro- 
nology, the  great  era  of  their  creation. 
Suppose,  now,  that  the  venerable  in- 
sect, this  Nestor  of  the  Hypanians,  a 
short  time  before  his  death,  about  the 
hour  of  sunset,  assembles  all  his  de- 
scendants, his  friends  and  acquaint- 
ances, to  give  them,  with  his  dying 
breath,  his  last  advice.  They  gather 
from  all  parts  under  the  vast  shelter 
of  the  mushroom,  and  the  dying  sage 
addresses  them  in  the  following  man- 
ner: Friends  and  compatriots,  I  feel 
that  the  longest  life  must  have  an  end. 
The  term  of  mine  has  arrived,  and  I 
do  not  regret  my  fate,  since  my  great 
age  has  become  a  burden  to  me,  and 
there  is  nothing  new  under  the  sun 
for  me.  The  revolutions  and  calamities 
that  have  desolated  my  country,  the 
great  number  of  particular  accidents 
to  which  we  are  all  subject,  the  infirm- 
ities that  afliict  our  species,  and  the 
misfortunes  that  have  happened  to  my 
own  family — all  that  I  have  seen  in 
the  course  of  a  long  life — has  only  too 
well  taught  me  this  great  trutli,  that 
happiness,  placed  in  things  which  do 
not  depend  upon  ourselves,  can  never 
be  certain  and  lasting.  An  entire  gen- 
eration has  perished  by  a  violent  wind ; 
a  multitude  of  our  imprudent  youth 
has  been   swept  into  the  water  by  a 


brisk  and  unexpected  breeze.  "What 
terrible  floods  a  sudden  rain  has  caused! 
Our  firmest  shelters  even  are  not  proof 
against  a  hail-storm.  A  dark  cloud 
causes  the  most  courageous  hearts  to 
tremble. 

I  lived  in  the  early  ages,  and  con- 
versed with  insects  of  larger  growth, 
of  stronger  constitutions,  and  1  may 
say  of  greater  wisdom,  than  any  of  the 
present  generation.  I  conjure  you  to 
give  credit  to  my  last  words,  when  I 
assure  you  that  the  sun,  which  seems 
not  far  from  the  earth,  I  have  seen  in 
times  past  fixed  in  the  middle  of  the 
heavens,  its  raj^s  darting  directly  upon 
us.  The  earth  was  much  lighter  in  jiast 
ages,  the  air  was  much  warmer,  and  our 
ancestors  were  more  sober  and  virtuous. 

Although  my  senses  are  enfeebled, 
my  memory  is  not ;  I  can  assure  you 
that  this  glorious  luminary  moves.  I 
have  seen  it  rising  over  the  summit  of 
that  mountain ;  and  I  began  my  life 
about  the  time  that  it  commenced  its 
immense  career.  It  has,  during  several 
centuries,  advanced  in  the  heavens  with 
an  astonishing  heat  and  brilliancy,  of 
which  you  can  have  no  idea,  and  which 
assuredly  you  could  not  have  supported; 
but  now,  by  its  decline,  and  the  sensi- 
ble diminution  of  its  vigor,  I  foresee 
that  all  nature  must  shortly  terminate, 
and  that  this  world  will  be  buried  in 
darkness  in  less  than  a  hundred  minutes. 

Alas!  my  friends,  how  I  flattered  my- 
self, at  one  time,  with  the  deceitful  hope 
of  always  living  on  this  earth!  how 
magnificent  were  the  cells  I  had  hol- 
lowed out  for  myself!  what  confidence 
did  I  put  in  the  firmness  of  my  limbs 
and  in  the  strength  of  my  wings!  But 
I  have  lived  long  enough  for  nature 
and  for  glory,  and  none  of  those  I  leave 
behind  me  will  have  that  same  satis- 
faction in  the  century  of  darkness  and 
decay  that  I  see  about  to  begin. 


PLEASING   AND    COMFOETING   LITEEATUEE, 


47 


EELiaiON  THE  FOUNDATION  OF  CONTENT. 

[This  mnch-admired  composition  is  from  thie  pen  of  Dr. 
Samuel  Johnson,  the  literary  giant  of  England,  one  hun- 
4red  years  ago. J 

Omar,  the  hermit  of  the  mountain 
Aubukabis,  which  rises  on  the  east  of 
Mecca,  and  overlooks  the  city,  found, 
one  evening,  a  man  sitting  pensive  and 
alone,  within  a  few  paces  of  his  cell. 
Omar  regarded  him  with  attention,  and 
perceived  that  his  looks  Avere  wild  and 
haggard,  and  that  his  body  was  feeble 
and  emaciated.  The  man  also  seemed 
to  gaze  steadfastly  on  Omar ;  but  such 
was  the  abstraction  of  his  mind,  that 
his  eye  did  not  immediately  take  cog- 
nizance of  its  object.  In  the  moment 
of  recollection,  he  started,  as  from  a 
dream;  he  covered  his  face  in  confusion, 
and  bowed  himself  to  the  ground. 
"Son  of  affliction,"  said  Omar,  "who 
art  thou,  and  what  is  thy  distress?" 
"My  name,"  replied  the  stranger,  "is 
Hassan,  and  I  am  a  native  of  this  city; 
the  Angel  of  Adversity  has  laid  his 
hand  upon  me,  and  the  wretch  whom 
thine  eye  compassionates,  thou  canst 
not  deliver."  "To  deliver  thee,"  said 
Omar,  "belongs  to  Him  only  from 
whom  we  should  receive  with  humility 
both  good  and  evi] ;  yet  hide  not  thy 
life  from  me;  for  the  burden  which  1 
can  not  remove,  I  may,  at  least,  enable 
thee  to  sustain."  Hassan  fixed  his 
eyes  upon  the  ground,  and  remained 
some  time  silent;  then  fetching  a  deep 
sigh,  he  looked  up  at  the  hermit,  and 
thus  complied  with  his  request: 

"It  is  now  six  years  since  our  mighty 
lord,  the  caliph  Almalic,  whose  memory 
be  blessed,  first  came  privately  to  wor- 
ship in  the  temple  of  the  holy  city. 
Tlie  blessing  which  he  petitioned  of 
the  prophet,  as  the  prophet's  vicege- 
rent, he  was  diligent  to  dispense;  in  the 
intervals  of  his  devotion,  therefore,  he 
went  about  the  city  relieving  distress 
and  restraining  oppression;  the  widow 
smiled  under  his  protection,  and  the 
"weakness  of  age  and  infancy  was  sus- 


tained by  his  bounty.  1,  who  dreaded 
no  evil  but  sickness,  and  expected  no 
good  beyond  the  reward  of  my  labor, 
was  singing  at  my  work  when  Almalic 
entered  my  dwelling.  He  looked  round 
with  a  smile  of  complacency,  perceiv- 
ing that,  though  it  was  mean,  it  was  neat, 
and  though  I  was  poor,  I  appeared  to 
be  content.  As  his  habit  was  that  of 
a  pilgrim,  I  hastened  to  receive  him 
with  such  hosjDitality  as  was  in  my 
power;  and  my  cheerfulness  was  rather 
increased  than  restrained  by  his  pres- 
ence. After  he  had  accepted  some 
coffee,  he  asked  me  many  questions ; 
and  though,  by  my  answers,  1  always 
endeavored  to  excite  him  to  mirth,  yet 
I  perceived  that  he  grew  thoughtful, 
and  eyed  me  with  a  placid  but  fixed  at- 
tention. I  suspected  that  he  had  some 
knowledge  of  me,  and,  therefore,  inquired 
his  country  and  his  name.  'Hassan,' 
said  he,  'I  have  raised  thy  curiosity,  and 
it  shall  be  satisfied.  He  who  now  talks 
with  thee  is  Almalic,  the  sovereign  of 
the  faithful,  whose  scat  is  the  throne 
of  Medina,  and  whose  commission  is 
from  above.'  These  words  struck  me 
dumb  with  astonishment,  though  I  had 
some  doubt  of  their  truth  ;  but  Almalic. 
throwing  back  his  garment,  discovered 
the  peculiarity  of  his  vest,  and  put  the 
royal  signet  upon  his  finger.  I  then 
started  up,  and  was  about  to  prostrate 
myself  before  him,  but  he  prevented 
me.  'Hassan,'  said  he,  'forbear;  thou 
art  greater  than  I,  and  from  thee  I 
have  at  once  derived  humility  and 
wisdom.'  I  answered:  'Mock  not  thy 
servant,  who  is  but  as  a  worm  before 
thee;  life  and  death  are  in  thy  hands, 
and  happiness  and  misery  are  the 
daughters  of  thj-  will.'  'Hassan,'  he* 
replied,  'I  can  no  otherwise  give  Jife 
or  happiness  tiian  by  not  taking  them 
away  ;  thou  art  thyself  beyond  the  reach 
of  my  bounty,  and  possessed  of  felicity 
which  I  can  neither  communicate  noi 
obtain.  My  influence  over  others  tills 
my  bosom  with  perpetual  solicitude  and 


48 


SUNDAY    BOOK    OF 


anxiety;  and  yet  my  influence  over 
others  extends  to  their  vices,  whether 
I  would  reward  or  punish.  By  the 
bowstring,  I  can  suppress  violence  and 
fraud;  and  by  the  delegation  of  powci', 
I  can  transfer  the  insatiable  wishes  of 
avarice  and  ambition  from  one  object 
to  another ;  but  with  respect  to  virtue, 
I  am  impotent;  if  I  could  reward  it,  I 
would  reward  it  in  thee.  Thou  art 
content,  and  hast,  therefore,  neither 
avarice  nor  ambition ;  to  exalt  thee 
would  destroy  the  simplicity  of  thy  life, 
and  diminish  that  hajipincss  which  I 
have  no  power  either  to  increase  or  to 
continue.'  - 

"He  then  rose  up,  and,  commanding 
me  not  to  disclose  his  secret,  departed. 

"As  soon  as  I  recovered  from  the 
confusion  and  astonishment  in  which 
the  caliph  left  me,  I  began  to  regret 
that  my  behavior  had  intercepted  his 
bounty,  and  accused  that  cheerful- 
ness of  folly  which  was  the  concomi- 
tant of  poverty  and  labor.  I  now  re- 
pined at  the  obscurity  of  my  station, 
which  my  former  insensibility  had  per- 
petuated; I  neglected  my  labor  be- 
cause I  despised  the  reward;  I  spent 
the  day  in  idleness,  forming  romantic 
projects  to  recover  the  advantages  which 
I.  had  lost ;  and  at  night,  instead  of 
losing  myself  in  that  sweet  and  re- 
freshing sleep,  from  which  I  used  to 
Hse  with  new  health,  cheerfulness,  and 
vigor,  I  dreamt  of  splendid  habits  and 
a  numerous  retinue  of  gardens,  palaces, 
eunuchs,  and  women,  and  waked  only 
to  regret  the  illusions  that  had  vanished. 
My  health  was  at  length  impaired  by 
the  inquietude  of  my  mind;  I  sold  all 
my  movables  for  subsistence,  and  re- 
served only  a  mattress,  upon  which  I 
sometimes  lay  from  one  night  to  an- 
other. 

"In  the  first  moon  of  the  following 
year,  the  caliph  came  again  to  Mecca, 
with  the  same  secresy,  and  for  the  same 
j)urposes.  He  was  willing  once  more 
to  see  the  man  whom  ho  considered  as 


deriving  felicity  from  himself.  But  he 
found  me,  not  singing  at  my  work, 
ruddy  with  health,  vivid  with  cheer- 
fulness, but  pale  and  dejected,  sitting 
on  the  ground,  and  chewing  opium, 
which  contributed  to  substitute  the 
phantoms  of  imagination  for  the  realities 
of  greatness.  He  entered  with  a  kind 
of  joyful  impatience  in  his  countenance, 
which,  the  moment  he  beheld  me,  was 
changed  to  a  mixture  of  wonder  and 
pity.  I  had  often  wished  for  another 
opportunity  to  address  the  caliph;  yet 
1  was  confounded  at  his  presence,  and, 
throwing  myself  at  his  feet,  I  laid  my 
hand  upon  my  head  and  was  speech- 
less. 'Hassan,'  said  he,  'what  canst 
thou  have  lost,  whose  wealth  was  the 
labor  of  thine  own  hand?  and  what  can 
have  made  thee  sad,  the  spring  of 
whose  joy  was  in  thy  own  bosom? 
What  evil  hath  befallen  thee?  Speak, 
and  if  I  can  remove  it,  thou  art  happy.' 
I  was  now  encouraged  to  look  up,  and 
I  replied,  'Let  my  lord  forgive  the  jire- 
sumption  of  his  servant,  who,  rather 
than  utter  a  falsehood,  would  be  dumb 
forever.  I  am  become  wretched  by  the 
loss  of  that  which  I  never  possessed ; 
thou  hast  raised  wishes,  which,  indeed, 
I  am  not  worthy  thou  shouldst  satisfy; 
but  why  should  it  be  thought  that  he 
who  was  happy  in  obscurity  and  indi- 
gence, would  not  havo  been  rendered 
more  happy  by  eminence  and  wealth  ?' 
"  When  I  had  finished  this  s^^eech,  Al- 
malic  stood  some  moments  in  suspense, 
and  I  continued  prostrate  before  him. 
'Hassan,'  said  he,  'I  perceive,  not 
with  indignation,  but  with  regret,  that 
I  mistook  thy  character;  I  now  dis- 
cover avarice  and  ambition  in  thy  heart, 
which  lay  torpid  only  because  their 
objects  were  too  remote  to  I'ouse  them. 
I  can  not,  therefore,  invest  thee  with 
authority,  because  I  would  not  subject 
my  people  to  oppression,  and  because 
I  would  not  be  compelled  to  punish 
thee  for  crimes  which  I  first  enabled 
thee  to  commit.     But,  as  I  have  taken 


pijEasing  and  comfoeting  liteeatuee. 


49 


from  thee  that  which  I  can  not  restore, 
I  will,  at  least,  gratify  the  wishes  that 
I  excited,  lest  thy  heart  accuse  me  of 
injustice,  and  thou  continue  still  a 
stranger  to  thyself.  Arise,  therefore, 
and  follow  me.'  I  sprung  from  the 
ground,  as  it  were,  with  the  wings  of  an 
eagle;  I  kissed  the  hem  of  his  garment 
in  an  ecstasy  of  gratiude  and  joy;  and 
when  I  went  out  of  my  house,  my 
heart  leaped  as  if  I  had  escaped  from 
the  den  of  a  lion.  I  followed  Almalic 
to  the  caravansera  in  which  he  lodged; 
and  after  he  had  fulfilled  his  vows, 
he  took  me  with  him  to  Medina.  He 
gave  me  an  apartment  in  the  se- 
raglio. I  was  attended  by  his  own 
servants;  my  provisions  were  sent  from 
his  own  table;  I  received  every  week 
a  sum  from  his  treasury  which  exceeded 
the  most  romantic  of  my  exj)ectations; 
but  I  soon  discovered  that  no  dainty 
was  80  tasteful  as  the  food  to  which 
labor  procured  an  appetite,  no  slum- 
bers so  sweet  as  those  which  weariness 
invited,  and  no  time  so  well  enjoyed  as 
that  in  which  diligence  is  expecting  its 
reward.  I  remembered  these  enjoy- 
ments with  regret;  and  while  1  M-as 
sighing  in  the  midst  of  superfluities 
which,  though  they  encumbered  life, 
yet  I  could  not  give  up,  they  were 
suddenly  taken  away. 

"Almalic,  in  the  midst  of  the  glory 
of  his  kingdom,  and  in  the  full  vigor 
of  his  life,  expired  suddenly  in  the 
bath ;  such,  thou  knowest,  was  the  des- 
tiny which  the  Almighty  had  written 
upon  his  head. 

"His  son,  Aububekir,  who  succeeded 
to  the  throne,  was  incensed  against  mo 
by  some  who  regarded  me  at  once  with 
contempt  and  envy;  he  suddenly  with- 
drew my  pension,  and  commanded  that 
I  should  be  expelled  the  palace — a  com- 
mand which  my  enemies  executed  with 
80  much  rigor,  that  within  twelve  hours 
I  found  myself  in  the  streets  of  Medina, 
indigent  and  friendless,  exposed  to 
hunger  and  derision,  with  all  the  hab- 


its of  luxury  and  all  the  sensibility  of 
pride.  O !  let  not  thy  heart  despise 
me,  thou  whom  experience  has  not 
taught,  that  it  is  misery  to  lose  that 
which  it  is  not  happiness  to  possess. 
0!  that  for  me  this  lesson  had  not  been 
written  on  the  tablets  of  Providence! 
I  have  traveled  from  Medina  to  Mecca; 
but  I  can  not  fly  from  myself.  How 
different  are  the  states  in  which  I  have 
been  placed !  The  remembrance  of 
both  is  bitter,  for  the  pleasures  of  neither 
can  return."  Ilassan,  havingthus ended 
his  story,  smote  his  hands  together, 
and,  looking  upward,  burst  into  tears. 

Omar,  having  waited  till  this  agony 
was  past,  went  to  him,  and  taking  him 
by  the  hand,  "My  son,"  said  he,  "more 
is  yet  in  thy  power  than  Almalic  could 
give,  or  Aububekir  take  away.  The 
lesson  of  thy  life,  the  Prophet  has,  in 
mercy,  appointed  me  to  explain. 

"Thou  wast  once  content  with  pov- 
erty and  labor,  only  because  they  were 
become  habitual,  and  ease  and  affluence 
were  j^laced  bej'ond  thy  hope  ;  for  when 
ease  and  aflluenco  approached  thee, 
thou  wast  content  with  poverty  and 
labor  no  more.  That  which  then  be- 
came the  object  was  also  the  bound  of 
thy  hope;  and  he  whose  utmost  hope 
is  disappointed,  must  inevitably  be 
wretched.  If  thy  supreme  desire  had 
been  the  delights  of  Paradise,  and  thou 
hadst  believed  that  by  the  tenor  of  thy 
life  these  delights  had  been  secured,  as 
more  could  not  have  been  given  thee, 
thou  wouldst  not  have  regretted  that 
less  was  not  offered.  The  content 
which  was  once  enjoj^ment  was  but 
the  lethargy  of  soul,  and  the  distress 
which  is  now  sufi'ercd  will  but  quicken 
it  to  action.  Depart,  therefore,  and  Do 
thankful  for  all  things;  put  thy  trust 
in  Him  who  alone  can  gratify  the  wish 
of  reason,  and  satisfy  thy  soul  with 
good;  fix  thy  hope  upon  that  portion 
in  comparison  of  which  the  world  is 
as  the  drop  of  the  bucket  and  the  dust 
of  the    balance.     Eeturn,   my   son,   to 


50 


SUNDAY    BOOK    OF 


thy  labor;  thy  food  shall  be  again 
tasteful,  and  thy  rest  shall  be  sweet; 
to  thy  content  also  shall  be  added  sta- 
bility, when  it  depends  not  upon  that 
which  is  possessed  upon  earth,  but 
Tzpon  that  which  is  expected  in  heaven." 
Hassan,  upon  whose  mind  the  Angel 
of  Instruction  impressed  the  counsel 
of  Omar,  hastened  to  jjrostrate  himself 
in  the  temple  of  the  prophet.  Peace 
dawned  upon  his  mind  like  the  radi- 
ance of  the  morning;  be  returned  to 
his  labor  with  cheerfulness;  his  devo- 
tion became  fervent  and  habitual ;  and 
the  latter  days  of  Hassan  were  happier 
than  the  first. 


LITTLE  THINGS. 
[Thomas  Davis,  an  Irish  poet ;  died  in  1845.] 

The  flower  is  small  that  decks  the  field. 
The  bee  is  small  that  bends  the  flower, 

But  flower  and  bee  alike  may  yield 
Food  for  a  thoughtful  hour. 

Essence  and  attributes  of  each 
For  ends  profound  combine; 

And  all  the}'  are,  and  all  they  teach, 
Sj)rings  from  the  mind  Divine. 

Is  there  who  scorneth  little  things? 

As  wisely  might  he  scorn  to  eat 
The  food  that  bounteous  autumn  brings 

In  little  grains  of  wheat. 

Methinks,  indeed,  that  such  an  one 
Few  pleasures  upon  earth  will  find, 

"Where  well  nigh  every  good  is  won 
From  little  things  combined. 

The  lark  that  in  the  morning  air 

Amid  the  sunbeams  mounts  and  sings ; 

Wnat  lifted  her  so  lightly  there? — 
Small  feathers  in  her  wings. 

What  form,  too,  then  the  beauteous  dyes 
With  which  all  nature  oft  is  bright, 

Meadows  and  streams,  woods,  hills,  and 
skies? — 
Minutest  waves  of  light. 


And  when  the  earth  is  sere  and  sad 
From  summer's  over -fervid  reign, 

How  is  she  in  fresh  beauty  clad? — 
By  little  droj^s  of  rain. 

Yea,  and  the  robe  that  Nature  weaves, 
Whence  does  it  every  robe  surpass?-^ 

From  little  flowers,  and  little  leaves, 
And  little  blades  of  grass. 

O  sure,  who  scorneth  little  things, 
If  he  were  not  a  thoughtless  elf, 

Far  above  all  that  round  him  springs. 
Would  scorn  his  little  self. 


THE  UNREGAEDED  TOILS  OF  THE  POOR. 
[Mary  Howitt;  born  in  England  about  1800.] 

Alas  !  what  secret  tears  are  shed. 
What  wounded  spirits  bleed  : 

What  loving  hearts  are  sundered, 
And  yet  man  takes  no  heed! 

He  goeth  in  his  daily  course, 
,  Made  fat  with  oil  and  wine, 
And  pitieth  not  the  weary  souls 

That  in  his  bondage  pine — 
That  turn  for  him  the  mazy  wheel, 

That  delve  for  him  the  mine! 
And  pitieth  not  the  children  small 

In  smoky  factories  dim, 
That  all  day  long,  lean,  pale,  and  fulnty 

Do  heavy  tasks  for  him ! 

To  him  they  are  but  as  the  stones 

,  Beneath  his  feet  that  lie: 
It  entereth  not  his  thoughts  that  they 

With  him  claim  sympathy: 
It  entereth  not  his  thoughts  that  God 

Heareth  the  sufferer's  groan. 
That  in  his  righteous  eye  their  life 

Is  precious  as  his  own. 


AN  EVENING  REVERIE. 


[William    CuUen  Bryant :    born    in    Cummington,   ]Ua«e., 
in  1794. J 

The  summer  day  is  closed,  the  sun  is  set: 
Well  they  have  done  their  office,  those  bright 

hours, 
The  latest  of  whose  train  goes  softly  out 
In  the  red  West.     The  green  blade  of  the  ground 


PLEASING    AND    COMFORTING   LITERATURE, 


51 


Has  rises,  and  herds  have  cropped  it;  the  young 

twig 
Has  spread  its  plaited  tissues  to  the  sun; 
Flowers  of  the  garden  and  the  waste  have  blown 
And  withered;  seeds  have  fallen  upon  the  soil, 
From  bursting  cells,  and  in  their  grave  await 
Their  resurrection.     Insects  from  the  pools 
Have  filled  the  air  awhile  with  humming  wings. 
That  now  are  still  forever;  painted  moths 
Have  wandered  the  blue  sky,  and  died  again; 
The  mother-bird  hath  broken  for  her  brood 
Their  prison  shell,  or  shoved  them  from  the  nest, 
Plumed  for  their  earliest   flight.     In  bright  al- 
coves, 
lu  woodland  cottages  with  barky  walls, 
In  noisome  cells  of  tumultuous  towns, 
Mothers  have  clasped  with  joy  the  newborn  babe. 
Graves  by  the  lonely  forest,  by  the  shore 
Of  rivers  and  of  ocean,  by  the  ways 
Of  the  thronged  city,  have  been  hollowed  out 
And  filled,  and   closed.      This  day  hath   parted 

friends 
That  ne'er  before  were  parted;  it  hath  knit 
New  friendships;  it  hath  seen  the  maiden  plight 
Her  faith,  and  trust  her  peace  to  him  who  long 
Had  wooed:  and  it  hath  heard,  from  lips  which 

late 
Were  eloquent  with  love,  the  first  hai-sh  word, 
That  told  the  wedded  one  her  peace  was  flown. 
Farewell  to  the  sweet  sunshine !     One  glad  day 
la  added  now  to  Childhood's  merry  days, 
And  one  calm  day  to  those  of  quiet  Age. 
Still  the  fleet  hours  run  on;  and  as  I  lean. 
Amid  the  thickening  darkness,  lamps  are  lit. 
By  those  who  watch  the  dead,  and  those  who 

twine 
Flowers  for  the  bride.    The  mother  from  the  eyes 
Of  her  sick  infant  shades  the  painful  light, 
And  sadly  listens  to  his  quick-drawn  breath. 

0  thou  great  Movement  of  the  Universe, 

Or  change,  or  Flight  of  Time — for  ye  are  one 
That  bearest,  silently,  this  visible  scene 
Into  night's  shadow  and  the  streaming  rays 
Of  starlight,  whither  art  thou  bearing  me? 

1  feel  the  mighty  current  sweep  me  on, 
Yet  know  not  whither.     Man  foretells  afar 
The  courses  of  the  stars;  the  very  hour 

He  knows  when  they  shall  darken  or  grow  bright; 
Yet  doth  the  eclipse  of  Sorrow  and  of  Death 
Come  unforewarned.     Who  next,  of  those  I  love. 
Shall  pass  from  life,  or,  sadder  yet,  shall  fall 
From  virtue?     Strife  with  foes,  or  bitterer  strife 
With  friends,  or  shame  and   general  scorn   of 

men — 
Which  who  can  bear? — or  the  fierce  rack  of  pain. 
Lie  they  witliin  my  path?     Or  shall  the  years 
Push  me,  'with  soft  and  inoff"ensive  pace, 
Into  the  stilly  twilight  of  my  age? 
Or  do  the  portals  of  another  life 


Even  now  while  I  am  glorying  in  my  strength, 
Impend  around  me?     0!  beyond  that  bourne, 
In  the  vast  cycle  of  being  which  begins 
At  that  broad  threshold,  with  what  fairer  forms 
Shall  the  great  law  of  change  and  progress  clothe 
Its  workings  ?    Gently,  so  have  good  men  taught. 
Gently,  and  without  grief,  the  old  shall  glide 
Into  the  new;  the  eternal  flow  of  things, 
Like  a  bright  river  of  the  fields  of  heaven. 
Shall  journey  onward  in  perpetual  peace. 


THE  MOUNTAIN  OF  MISERIES. 


JOSEPH   ADDISON. 


It  is  a  celebrated  thought  of  Socrates, 
that  if  all  the  misfoi'tunes  of  mankind 
were  cast  into  a  public  stock,  in  order 
to  be  equally  distributed  among  the 
whole  species,  those  who  now  think 
themselves  the  most  unhappy,  would 
prefer  the  share  they  are  already  pos- 
sessed of,  before  that  which  would  fall 
to  them  by  such  a  division.  Horace  has 
carried  this  thought  a  great  deal  further 
(Sat.  iii,  ver.  7),  which  implies  that  the 
hardships  or  misfortunes  we  lie  under 
are  more  easy  to  us  than  those  of  any 
other  person  would  be,  in  case  we  could 
change  conditions  with  him. 

As  I  was  ruminating  upon  these  two 
remarks,  and  seated  in  my  elbow-chair, 
I  insensiblyfell  asleep,  when,  on  a  sudden, 
methought  there  was  a  proclamation 
made  by  Jupiter  that  every  mortal  should 
bring  in  his  griefs  and  calamities,  and 
throw  them  together  in  a  heap.  There 
was  a  plain  apj^ointed  for  this  purpose. 
I  took  my  stand  in  the  center  of  it,  and 
saw,  with  a  great  deal  of  j^lcasure,  the 
whole  human  species  marching  one  after 
another,  and  throwing  down  their  sev- 
eral loads,  which  immediately  grew  up 
into  a  prodigious  mountain,  that  seemed 
to  rise  above  the  clouds. 

There  was  a  certain  lady,  of  a  thin, 
airy  shape,  who  was  very  active  in  this 
solemnity.  She  carried  a  magnifying 
glass  m  one  of  her  hands,  and  was  clothed 
in  a  loose,  flowing  robe,  embroidered 
with  several  figures  of  fiends  and  spec- 
ters, that  disc'overcd  themselves  in  a 
thousand  chimerical  shapes,  as  her  gar- 


52 


SUNDAY    BOOK    OF 


ments  hovered  in  the  wind.  There  "was 
something  wild  and  distracted  in  her 
looks.  Her  name  was  Fancy.  She  led 
up  every  mortal  to  the  ajipointed  place, 
after  having  very  officiously  assisted  him 
in  making  up  his  pack,  and  laying  it 
upon  his  shoulders.  My  heart  melted 
within  me  to  see  my  fellow-creatures 
groaning  under  their  respective  bur- 
dens, and  to  consider  that  prodigious 
bulk  of  human  calamities  which  lay  be- 
fore me. 

There  were,  however,  several  persons 
who  gave  me  great  diversion.  Upon 
this  occasion,  I  observed  one  bringing 
in  a  fardel,  very  carefully  concealed  un- 
der an  old  embroidered  cloak,  which, 
upon  his  throwing  it  into  the  heap,  I  dis- 
covered to  be  poverty.  Another,  after 
a  great  deal  of  puffing,  threw  down  his 
luggage,  which,  upon  examining,  I  found 
to  be  his  wife. 

There  were  multitudes  of  lovers,  sad- 
dled with  very  whimsical  burdens,  com- 
posed of  darts  and  flames ;  but,  what 
was  very  odd,  though  they  sighed  as 
if  their  hearts  would  break  under  these 
bundles  of  calamities,  they  could  not 
persuade  themselves  to  cast  them  into 
the  heap  when  they  came  up  to  it ;  but, 
after  a  few  vain  efforts,  shook  their 
heads,  and  marched  away  as  heavy  la- 
den as  they  came.  I  saw  multitudes  of 
old  women  throw  down  their  wrinkles, 
and  several  young  ones  who  stripped 
themselves  of  a  tawny  skin.  There 
were  very  great  heaps  of  red  noses,  and 
large  lips,  and  rusty  teeth.  The  truth 
of  it  is,  I  was  surprised  to  see  the  great- 
est part  of  the  mountain  made  up  of 
bodily  deformities.  Observing  one  ad- 
vancing toward  the  heap  with  a  larger 
cargo  than  ordinary  upon  his  back,  I 
found,  upon  his  near  approach,  that  it 
was  only  a  natural  hump,  which  he  dis- 
posed of  with  great  joy  of  heart  among 
this  collection  of  human  miseries.  There 
were,  likewise  distempers,  of  all  sorts, 
though  I  could  not  but  observe  that 
there  were  many  more  imaginary  than 


real.  One  little  j^acket  I  could  not  but 
take  notice  of,  which  was  a  complica- 
tion of  all  diseases  incident  to  human 
nature,  and  was  in  the  hand  of  a  great 
many  fine  people ;  this  was  called  the 
spleen.  But  what  most  of  all  surprised 
me  was  a  remark  I  made,  that  there  was 
not  a  single  vice  or  folly  thrown  into 
the  whole  heap ;  at  which  I  was  very 
much  astonished,  having  concluded 
within  myself  that  every  one  would 
take  this  opportunity  of  getting  rid  of 
his  passions,  prejudices,  and  frailties. 

I  took  notice  in  particular  of  a  very 
profligate  fellow,  who,  I  did  not  ques- 
tion, came  laden  with  his  crimes;  but 
upon  searching  into  his  bundles,  I  found 
that,  instead  of  throwing  his  guilt  from 
him,  he  had  only  laid  down  his  memory. 
He  was  followed  by  another  worthless 
rogue,  who  flung  away  his  modesty  in- 
stead of  his  ignorance. 

When  the  whole  race  of  mankind  had 
thus  cast  away  their  burdens,  the  phan- 
tom which  had  been  so  busy  on  this 
occasion,  seeing  me  an  idle  sjDcctator  of 
what  passed,  approached  toward  me.  I 
grew  uneasy  at  her  presence,  when  of  a 
sudden  she  held  her  magnifying  glass 
full  before  my  eyes.  I  no  sooner  saw 
my  face  in  it  but  was  startled  at  the 
shortness  of  it,  which  now  appeared  to 
me  in  its  utmost  aggravation.  The  im- 
moderate breadth  of  the  features  mad* 
me  very  much  out  of  humor  with  my 
own  countenance,  upon  which  I  threw 
it  from  me  like  a  mask.  It  happened 
very  luckily  that  one  who  stood  by  me 
had  just  before  thrown  down  his  visage, 
which,  it  seems,  was  too  long  for  him. 
It  was,  indeed,  extended  to  a  most 
shameful  length.  I  believe  the  very 
chin  was,  modestly  speaking,  as  long  as 
my  whole  face.  We  had  both  of  us  an 
opportunity  of  mending  ourselves ;  and 
all  the  contributions  being  now  brought 
in,  every  man  was  at  liberty  to  exchange 
his  misfortunes  for  those  of  another 
person. 

It  was  with  unspeakable  pleasure  that 


PLEASING    AND    COMFOETING    LITEEATUEE. 


53 


the  whole  human  species  was  thus  de- 
delivered  of  its  sorrows  ;  though,  at  the 
same  time,  as  we  stood  round  the  heap, 
and  surveyed  the  several  materials  of 
which  it  was  composed,  there  was  scarce 
a  mortal  in  this  vast  multitude  who  did 
not  discover  what  he  thought  blessings 
and  pleasures  of  life,  and  wonder  how 
the  owners  of  them  ever  came  to  look 
ii|)on  them  as  burdens  and  grievances. 

As  we  were  regarding  very  attentively 
this  confusion  of  miseries,  this  chaos  of 
calamity,  Jupiter  issued  out  a  second 
proclamation,  that  every  one  was  now 
at  liberty  to  exchange  his  affliction,  and 
to  return  to  his  habitation  with  any 
such  bundle  as  should  be  allotted  to 
him. 

Upon  this,  Fancy  began  again  to  be- 
stir herself,  and,  parceling  out  the  whole 
heap  with  incredible  activity,  recom- 
mended to  every  one  his  particular 
packet.  The  hurry  and  confusion  at 
this  time  was  not  to  be  expressed.  Some 
observations  which  I  made  upon  the  oc- 
casion, I  shall  communicate  to  the  pub- 
lic. A  venerable,  gray-headed  man, 
who  had  laid  down  the  cholic,  and  who, 
I  found,  wanted  an  heir  to  his  estate, 
snatched  up  an  undutiful  son,  who  had 
been  throAvn  into  the  heap  by  his  angry 
father.  The  graceless  youth,  in  less  than 
a  quarter  of  an  hour,  pulled  the  old  gen- 
tleman by  the  beard,  and  had  liked  to  have 
knocked  his  brains  out;  so  that,  meet- 
ing the  true  father,  who  came  toward 
him  with  a  fit  of  the  gripes,  he  begged 
him  to  take  his  son  again,  and  give  him 
back  his  cholic;  they  were  incapable, 
either  of  them,  to  recede  from  the  choice 
they  had  made.  A  poor  galley-slave, 
who  had  thrown  down  his  chains,  took 
up  the  gout  instead,  but  made  such  wry 
faces  that  one  might  easily  perceive  he 
was  no  great  gainer  by  the  bargain.  It 
was  pleasant  enough  to  see  the  several 
exchanges  that  were  made — for  sickness 
against  poverty,  hunger  against  want 
of  appetite,  and  care  against  pain. 

The  female  world  were  very  busy 
31 


among  themselves  in  bartering  for  fea- 
tures— one  was  trucking  a  lock  of  gray 
hairs  for  a  carbuncle,  another  was 
making  over  a  short  waist  for  a  pair  of 
round  shoulders,  and  a  third  cheapen- 
ing a  bad  face  for  a  lost  reputation  ;  but 
on  all  these  occasions  there  was  not  one 
of  them  who  did  not  think  the  new  blem- 
ish, as  soon  as  she  got  it  into  her  posses- 
sion, much  more  disagreeable  than  the 
old  one.  I  made  the  same  observation 
on  every  other  misfortune  or  calamity, 
which  every  one  in  the  assembly  brought 
upon  himself  in  lieu  of  what  he  had 
parted  with;  whether  it  be  that  all  th* 
evils  which  befall  us  are,  in  some  meas- 
ure, suited  and  proportioned  to  our 
strength,  or  that  every  evil  becomes 
more  supportable  by  our  being  accus- 
tomed to  it,  I  shall  not  determine. 

I  could  not  from  my  heart  forbear 
pitying  the  poor  hump-back  gentleman, 
mentioned  before,  who  went  oif  a  very 
well-shaped  person  with  a  stone  in  hfs 
bladder  ;  nor  the  fine  gentleman  who  had 
struck  up  this  bargain  with  him,  that 
limped  through  a  whole  assembly  of  la- 
dies, who  used  to  admire  him,  with  a 
jDair  of  shoulders  peeping  over  his  head. 

I  must  not  omit  my  own  particular 
adventure.  My  friend  with  a  long  vis- 
age had  no  sooner  taken  upon  him  my 
short  face  but  he  made  such  a  grotesque 
figure  in  it  that,  as  I  looked  at  him,  I  could 
not  foi'bcar  laughing  at  myself,  insomuch 
that  I  put  my  own  face  out  of  counte- 
nance. The  poor  gentleman  was  so  sen- 
sible of  the  ridicule,  that  I  found  he  was 
ashamed  of  what  he  had  done;  on  the 
other  side,  I  found  that  I  myself  had  no 
great  reason  to  triumph,  for  as  I  went  to 
touch  my  forehead,  I  missed  the  place,  and 
clapped  my  finger  upon  my  upper  li}x 
Besides,  as  my  nose  was  exceedingly 
prominent,  I  gave  it  two  or  three  un- 
lucky knocks,  as  I  was  playing  my  hand 
about  my  face,  and  aiming  at  some  other 
part  of  "it.  I  saw  two  other  gentlemen 
by  me,  who  were  in  the  same  ridiculous 
circumstances.     These  had  made  a  fool- 


54 


SUNDAY   BOOK    OP 


ish  swap  between  a  couple  of  thick 
bandy  legs  and  two  long  trap-sticks  that 
had  no  calves  to  them.  One  of  these 
looked  like  a  man  walking  upon  stilts,  and 
was  so  lifted  up  into  the  air  above  his 
ordinary  height,  that  his  head  turned 
round  with  it;  while  the  other  made 
such  awkward  circles,  as  he  attempted  to 
walk,  that  he  scarcely  knew  how  to 
move  forward  upon  his  new  supporters. 
Observing  him  to  be  a  pleasant  kind  of 
fellow,  I  stuck  my  cane  in  the  ground, 
and  told  him  I  would  lay  him  a  bottle 
of  wine  that  he  did  not  march  up  to  it 
on  a  line  that  I  drew  for  him  in  a  quar- 
ter of  an  hour. 

The  heap  was  at  last  distributed  among 
the  two  sexes,  who  made  a  most  i:)iteous 
sight  as  they  wandered  up  and  down 
under  the  pressure  of  their  several  bur- 
dens. The  whole  plain  was  filled  with 
murmurs  and  complaints,  groans  and 
lamentations.  Juj^iter,  at  length,  taking 
compassion  on  the  poor  mortals,  ordered 
them  a  second  time  to  lay  down  their 
loads,  with  a  design  to  give  every  one 
his  own  again.  They  discharged  them- 
selves with  a  great  deal  of  pleasure; 
after  which  the  phantom  who  had  led 
them  into  such  gross  delusions  was  com- 
manded to  disappear.  There  was  sent 
in  her  stead  a  goddess  of  a  quite  differ- 
ent figure;  her  motions  were  steady  and 
composed,  and  her  aspect  serious  but 
cheerful.  She  every  now  and  then  cast 
her  eyes  toward  heaven,  and  fixed  them 
upon  Jupiter.  Her  name  was  Patience. 
She  had  no  sooner  placed  herself  by  the 
mount  of  soiTOWS,  but,  what  I  thought 
very  remarkable,  the  wliole  heap  sunk 
to  such  a  degree  that  it  did  not  apjjear 
a  third  part  so  big  as  it  was  before.  She 
afterward  returned  every  man  his  own 
proper  calamity,  and,  teaching  him  how 
to  bear  it  in  the  most  commodious  man- 
ner, he  marched  off"  with  it  contentedly, 
being  very  well  pleased  that  he  had  not 
been  left  to  his  own  choice  as  to  the 
kind  of  evils  which  fell  to  his  lot. 

Besides  the  several  pieces  of  morality 


to  be  drawn  out  of  this  vision,  I  learned 
from  it  never  to  rej)ine  at  my  own  mis- 
fortunes, or  to  envy  the  happiness  of 
another,  since  it  is  impossible  for  any 
man  to  form  a  right  judgment  of  his 
neighbor's  suiferings;  for  which  reason, 
also,  I  have  determined  never  to  think 
too  lightly  of  another  s  complaints,  but 
to  regard  the  sorrows  of  my  fellow-crea- 
tures with  sentiments  of  humanity  and 
compassion. 


MY  PSALM. 

[John  Greenleaf  Whittier ;  born  in  Haverhill,  Mass,  ISOS.l 

I  MOURN  no  more  my  vanished  years; 

Beneath  a  tender  rain, 
An  Aj)ril  rain  of  smiles  and  tears, 

My  heart  is  young  again. 

The  west  winds  blow,  and  singing  low, 
I  hear  the  glad  streams  run ; 

The  windows  of  ray  soul  I  throw 
Wide  open  to  the  sun. 

No  longer  forward,  nor  behind, 

I  look  in  hope  and  fear ; 
But  grateful,  take  the  good  I  find, 

The  best  of  now,  and  here. 

I  plow  no  more  a  desert  land 
For  harvest,  weed  and  tare; 

The  manna  dropping  from  Grod's  hand, 
Eebukes  my  painful  care. 

I  break  my  pilgrim  staff,  I  lay 

Aside  the  toiling  oai' ; 
The  angel  sought  so  far  away, 

I  welcome  at  my  door. 

The  airs  of  spring  may  never  play 

Among  the  ripening  corn, 
Nor  freshness  of  the  flowers  of  May 

Blow  through  the  autumn  morn. 

Yet  shall  the  blue-eyed  gentian  look 
Through  fringed  lids  to  heaven, 

And  the  pale  aster  in  the  brook 
Shall  see  its  image  given. 


PLEASING   AXD    COMFOETIXG   LITEEATUEE. 


55 


The  woods  shall  wear  their  robes  of 
praise, 

The  south  wind  softly  sigh ; 
And  sweet,  calm  days  in  golden  haze, 

Melt  down  the  amber  sky. 

Not  less  shall  manly  deed  and  word 

Eebuke  an  age  of  wrong ; 
The  graven  flowers  that  wreathe  the 
sword. 

Make  not  the  blade  less  strong. 

Enough  that  blessings  undeserved. 
Have  marked  my  erring  track  ; 

That  wheresoe'er  my  feet  have  swerved. 
His  chastening  turned  me  back. 

That  more  and  more  a  providence 

Of  love  is  understood, 
Making  the  springs  of  time  and  sense, 

Sweet  with  eternal  good. 

That  death  seems  but  a  covered  way, 

Which  opens  into  light; 
Wherein  no  blinded  child  can  Btvmy 

Beyond  the  Father's  sight. 

That  care  and  trial  seem  at  last, 
Through  memory's  sunset  air, 

Like  mountain  ranges  overpast 
In  purple  distance  fair. 

That  all  the  jarring  notes  of  life 

Seem  blending  in  a  psalm, 
And  all  the  angels  of  its  strife, 

Slow  rounding  into  calm. 

And  so  the  shadows  fall  apart, 
And  so  the  west  winds  play ; 

And  all  the  windows  of  my  heart 
I  open  to  this  day. 


THE  HAPPY  SOUL. 


ISAAC  WATTI. 


O  happy  soul,  that  lives  on  high. 
While  men  lie  groveling  here! 

His  hopes  are  fixed  above  the  sky, 
And  faith  forbids  his  fear. 


His  conscience  knows  no  secret  stings; 

While  peace  and  joy  combine 
To  form  a  life,  whose  holy  springs 

Are  hidden  and  divine. 

His  pleasures  rise  from  things  unseen, 

Beyond  this  world  and  time, 
Where  neither  eyes  nor  ears  have  been. 

Nor  thoughts  of  sinners  climb. 
He  looks  to  heaven's  eternal  hill, 

To  meet  that  glorious  day; 
And  patient  waits  his  Savior's  will, 

To  fetch  his  soul  away. 


ELOQUENCE  OF  THE  SCRIPTURES. 


STACKIIOUSE. 


If  we  consider  the  nature  of  elo- 
quence  in  general,  as  it  is  defined  by 
Aristotle,  to  be  a  faculty  of  persuasion, 
which  Cicero  makes  to  consist  in  three 
things,  instructing,  delighting,  and  mov- 
ing our  reader's  or  hearer's  mind,  we 
shall  find  that  the  Holy  Scriptures 
have  a  fair  claim  to  these  several 
properties. 

For  where  can  we  meet  with  such  a 
plain  representation  of  things  in  point  of 
history ,,j^nd  such  cogent  arguments  in 
point  of  precept,  as  this  one  volume 
furnishes  us  with?  Where  is  there  a 
history  written  more  simply  and  natu- 
rally, and  at  the  same  time  more  nobly 
and  loftily,  than  that  of  the  creation 
of  the  world?  Where  are  the  great 
lessons  of  mortality  taught  with  such 
force  and  perspicuity,  (except  in  the 
sermons  of  Christ,  and  the  writings  of 
the  apostles.)  as  in  the  book  of  Deuter- 
onomy? Where  is  the  whole  compass 
of  devotion  in  the  several  forms  of  con- 
fession, petition,  supplication,  thanks- 
givings, vows,  and  praises,  so  punctually 
taught  us  as  in  the  book  of  Psalms? 
Where  are  the  rules  of  wisdom  and 
prudence  so  convincingly  laid  down 
as  in  the  Proverbs  of  Solomon,  and 
the  choice  sentences  of  Ecclesiastes? 
Where  vice  and  impiety  of  all  kind.s 
more  justly  displayed,  and  more  fully 


66 


SUJS^DAY    BOOK    OF 


confuted  than  in  the  threats  and  ad- 
monitions of  the  prophets?  And  what 
do  the  little  warmths  which  may  be 
raised  in  the  fancy  by  an  artificial 
composure  and  vehemence  of  style 
signify,  in  comparison  of  those  sti'ong 
impulses  and  movements  which  the 
Holy  Scriptures  make  uj)on  good  men's 
souls,  when  they  represent  the  fright- 
ful justice  of  an  angry  God  to  stubborn 
offenders,  and  the  bowels  of  his  com- 
passion and  unspeakable  kindness  to  all 
true  penitents  and  faithful  servants? 

The  Holy  Scripture,  indeed,  has  none 
of  those  flashy  ornaments  of  speech 
wherewith  human  compositions  so  plen- 
tifully abound ;  but  then  it  has  a  suf- 
ficient stock  of  real  an  d  peculiar  beauties 
to  recommend  it.  To  give  one  instance 
for  all  out  of  the  history  of  Joseph  and 
his  family;  the  whole  relation,  indeed, 
is  extremely  natural,  but  the  manner 
of  his  discovering  himself  to  his  brethren 
is  inimitable:  "And  Joseph  could  no 
longer  refrain  himself;  but,  lifting  up  his 
voice,  with  tears,  said :  I  am  Joseph ;  doth 
my  father  yet  live  ?  And  his  brethren 
could  not  answer  him;  for  they  were 
troubled  at  his  presence.  And  Joseph 
said  to  his  brethren.  Come  near  me,  I 
pray  you ;  and  they  came  near.  And  he 
said,  I  am  Joseph,  your  brother,  whom 
yesold  into  Egypt."  Nothing,  certainly, 
can  be  a  more  lively  desci'iption  of 
Joseph's  tender  respect  for  his  father 
and  love  for  his  brethren  ;  and,  in  like 
manner,  when  his  brethren  returned  and 
told  their  father  in  what  splendor  and 
glory  his  son  Joseph  lived,  it  is  said  that 
"Jacob's  heart  fainted,  for  he  believed 
them  not;  but  when  he  saw  the  wagons 
which  Joseph  had  sent  for  him,  the 
spirit  of  Jacob,  their  father,  revived; 
and  Israel  said.  It  is  enough;  Joseph 
my  son  is  yet  alive :  I  will  go  and  see 
him  before  I  die."  Here  is  such  a  con- 
trast of  different  passions,  of  utter  de- 
spondency, dawning  hope  and  confirmed 
faith,  triumphant  joy  and  paternal  af- 
fection, as  no  orator  in  the  world  could 


express  more  movingly,  in  a  more  easy 
manner,  or  shorter  compass  of  words. 

Nay,  more:  had  I  leisure  to  gratify 
the  curious,  I  might  easily  show  that 
those  very  figures  and  schemes  of  speech 
which  are  so  much  admired  in  profane 
authors,  as  their  great  beauties  and  or- 
naments, are  nowhere  more  conspicuous 
than  in  the  sacred. 

One  figure,  for  instance,  esteemed 
very  florid  among  the  masters  of  art, 
is  when  all  the  members  of  a  period 
begin  with  the  same  word.  The  figure 
is  called  anaphora;  and  yet  (if  I  mistake 
not)  the  15th  Psalm  affords  us  a  very 
beautiful  passage  of  this  kind:  "Lord, 
who  shall  abide  in  thy  tabernacle? 
who  shall  dwell  in  thy  holy  hill?  He 
that  walketh  uprightly;  he  that  back- 
biteth  not  with  his  tongue;  he  that 
maketh  much  of  them  that  fear  the 
Lord ;  he  that  sweareth  to  his  hurt, 
and  changeth  not;  he  that  putteth  no/; 
out  his  money  to  usury,  nor  taketh  re- 
ward against  the  innocent.  He  that 
does  these  things  shall  never  be  moved. " 

The  ancient  orators  took  a  great  deal 
of  pride  in  ranging  finely  their  antitheta. 
Cicero  is  full  of  this,  and  uses  it  many 
times  to  a  degree  of  affectation;  and 
yet  I  can  not  find  any  place  wherein 
he  has  surpassed  that  passage  of  the 
prophet,  "He  that  killeth  an  ox,  is  as 
if  he  slew  a  man  ;  he  that  sacrificeth  a 
lamb,  is  as  if  he  cutoff  a  dog's  neck;  he 
that  offcreth  an  oblation,  as  if  he  offered 
swine's  blood."  But  above  all  other 
figures  that  whereon  poets  and  orators 
love  chiefly  to  dwell,  is  the  hyjwtyposis, 
or  lively  description;  and  yet  we  shall 
hardly  find  in  the  best  classic  authors 
any  thing  comjiarable,  in  this  regard, 
to  the  Egyptians'  destruction  in  the 
Eed  Sea,  related  in  the  song  of  Moses 
and  Miriam;  to  the  description  of  the 
leviathan,  in  Job ;  to  the  descent  of  God, 
and  a  storm  at  sea,  in  the  Psalmist;  to 
the  intrigues  of  an  adulterous  woman 
in  the  proverbs ;  to  the  pride  of  the 
Jewish   ladies,   in   Isaiah ;    and  to   the 


PLEASING   AND    COMFOETING   LITEEATUEE, 


57 


plague  of  locusts,  in  Joel,  which  is 
represented  like  the  ravaging  of  a 
country  and  storming  a  city  by  an 
army:  "A  fire  devoureth  before  them, 
and  behind  them  a  desolate  wilderness, 
and  nothing  shall  escape  them.  Before 
their  face  people  shall  be  pained;  all 
faces  shall  gather  blackness.  They 
shall  run  like  mighty  men ;  they  shall 
climb  the  wall  like  men  of  war;  they 
shall  march  every  one  in  his  way,  and 
they  shall  not  break  their  ranks.  They 
shall  run  to  and  fro  in  the  city;  they 
shall  run  upon  the  wall;  they  shall  climb 
up  u])on  the  houses;  they  shall  enter 
into  the  windows  as  a  thief."  The  de- 
scription is  more  remarkable  because  the 
analogy  is  carried  quite  throughout  with- 
out straining;  and  the  whole  processes 
of  a  conquering  army,  in  the  manner 
of  their  march,  their  destroying  the 
provision  and  burning  the  country,  in 
their  scaling  the  walls,  breaking  into 
houses,  and  running  about  the  van- 
quished city,  are  fully  delineated  and 
set  before  our  eyes. 

Prom  these  few  examples  (for  it  would 
be  endless  to  proceed  in  instances  of 
this  kind),  it  appears  that  the  Holy 
Bible  is  far  from  being  defective  in 
point  of  eloquence,  and  (what  is  a  pe- 
«  uliar  commendation  of  it)  its  style  is 
full  of  a  graceful  variety — sometimes 
majestic  as  becomes  that  "high  and 
■tioly  one  who  inhabiteth  eternity," 
sometimes  so  low  as  to  answer  the 
other  part  of  his  character,  "who 
dwelleth  with  him  that  is  of  an  hum- 
ble spirit,"  and  at  all  times  so  proper, 
and  adapted  so  well  to  the  several  sub- 
jects it  treats  of,  that  whoever  considers 
it  attentively  will  perceive  in  the  nar- 
rative parts  of  it  a  strain  so  simple 
and  unaffected,  in  the  prophetic  and 
devotional  something  so  animated  and 
sublime,  and  in  the  doctrinal  and  pre- 
ceptive such  an  air  of  dignity  and 
authority  as  seems  to  speak  its  original 
divine. 

We  allow,  indeed,  that  method  is  an 


excellent  art,  highly  conducive  to  the 
clearness  and  perspicuity  of  discourse; 
but  when  we  affirm  that  it  is  an  art 
of  modern  invention  in  comparison  to 
the  times  when  the  sacred  penman 
wrote,  and  incompatible  with  the  man- 
ner of  Writing  which  was  then  in 
vogue,  we,  indeed,  in  Europe,  who, 
in  this  matter,  have  taken  our  examples 
from  Greece,  can  hardly  read  any 
thing  with  pleasure  that  is  not  di- 
gested into  order  and  sorted  under 
proper  heads ;  but  the  eastern  nations, 
who  were  used  to  a  free  way  of  dis- 
course, and  never  cramped  their  notions 
by  methodical  limitations,  would  have 
despised  a  composition  of  this  kind  as 
much  as  we  do  a  school-boy's  theme, 
with  all  the  formalities  of  its  exordiums, 
ratios,  and  confirmations.  And  if  this 
was  no  precedent  for  other  nations, 
much  less  can  we  think  that  God 
Almighty's  method  ought  to  be  con- 
fined to  human  laws,  which,  being  de- 
signed for  the  narrowness  of  our  con- 
ceptions, might  be  improper  and  in- 
jurious to  His,  whose  "thoughts  are 
as  far  above  ours  as  the  heavens  are 
higher  than  the  earth." 

The  truth  is,  inspiration  is,  in  some 
measure,  the  language  of  another  world,  . 
and  carries  in  it  the  reasoning  of 
spirits,  which,  without  controversy,  is 
vastly  different  from  ours.  We,  indeed, 
to  make  things  lie  plain  before  our 
understandings,  are  forced  to  sort  them 
out  into  distinct  partitions,  and  con- 
sider them  little  by  little,  so  that,  at 
last,  by  gradual  advances,  wo  may 
come  to  a  tolerable  conception  of  them ; 
but  this  is  no  argument  for  us  to  think 
that  pure  spirits  do  reason  after  this 
manner.  Their  understandings  arc  quick 
and  intuitive;  they  see  the  whole  com- 
pass of  rational  inferences  at  once, 
and  have  no  need  of  those  little  me- 
thodical distinctions  which  oftentimes 
help  the  imperfections  of  our  intellects. 
Now,  though  we  do  not  assert  that  the 
language  of  the  Jloly  Scriptures  is  an 


58 


SUNDAY    BOOK    OP 


exact  copy  of  the  reasoning  of  the  spiritual 
world,  yet,  since  they  came  by  the  in- 
spiration of  the  Holy  Ghost,  it  is  but 
reasonable  to  expect  that  they  should 
preserve  some  small  relish  of  it,  as 
books  translated  into  another  tongue 
'always  retain  some  marks  of  their 
'originals.  And  hence  it  comes  to  pass, 
that  though  the  Holy  Ghost  does  vouch- 
safe to  speak  in  the  language  of  men, 
yet  in  his  divine  compositions  there 
are  some  traces  to  be  found  of  that 
bold  and  unlimited  ratiocination  which 
is  peculiar  to  the  heavenly  inhabitants, 
whose  noble  and  flaming  thoughts  are 
never  clogged  with  the  cold  and  jejune 
laws  of  human  method. 

ON   THE   BEAUTIES   OF   THE   PSALMS. 

Poetry  is  sublime  when  it  awakens 
in  the  mind  any  great  and  good  af- 
fection, as  piety  or  patriotism.  This 
is  one  of  the  noblest  effects  of  the  art. 
The  Psalms  are  remarkable  beyond  all 
other  writings  for  their  j)ower  of  in- 
spiring devout  emotions.  But  it  is  not 
in  this  respect  only  that  they  are  sub- 
lime. Of  the  Divine  nature  they  con- 
tain the  most  magnificent  descrij^tions 
that  the  soul  of  man  can  comprehend. 
The  hundred  and  fourth  Psalm,  in 
particular,  displays  the  power  and  good- 
ness of  Providence,  in  creating  and 
preserving  the  world  and  the  various 
tribes  of  animals  in  it,  with  such  ma- 
jestic brevity  and  beauty  as  it  is  vain 
to  look  for  in  any  human  composition. 

Greatness  confers  no  exemption  from 
the  cares  and  sorrows  of  life;  its  share 
of  them  frequently  bears  a  melancholy 
proportion  to  its  exaltation.  This  the 
Israelitish  monarch  exj)erienced.  He 
sought  in  piety  that  peace  which  he 
could  not  find  in  empire,  and  alleviated 
the  disquietudes  of  state  with  the  ex- 
ercises of  devotion.  His  invaluable 
Psalms  convey  those  comforts  to  others 
which  they  afibrded  to  himself.  Com- 
posed upon  particular  occasions,  yet 
designed  for  general  use;  delivered  out 


as  services  for  Israelites  under  the  law, 
yet  no  less  adapted  to  the  circum- 
stances of  Christians  under  the  Gospei, 
they  present  religion  to  us  in  the  mos^ 
engaging  dress,  communicating  truths 
which  philosophy  could  never  investi- 
gate, in  a  style  which  poetry  can  never 
equal,  while  history  is  made  the  vehicle 
of  prophecy,  and  creation  lends  all  its 
charms  to  paint  the  glories  of  redemp» 
tion.  Calculated  alike  to  profit  and  to 
please,  they  inform  the  understanding, 
elevate  the  afi'ections,  and  entertain 
the  imagination.  Indited  under  in- 
fluence of  Him  to  whom  all  hearts 
are  known,  and  all  events  foreknown, 
they  suit  mankind  in  all  situations, 
grateful  as  the  manna  which  descended 
from  above  and  conformed  itself  to 
every  palate.  The  fairest  productions 
of  human  wit,  after  a  few  perusals, 
like  gathered  flowers,  wither  in  our 
hands,  and  lose  their  fragrance;  but 
these  unfading  j)lants  of  paradise  be- 
come, as  we  are  accustomed  to  them, 
still  more  and  more  beautiful;  their 
bloom  appears  to  be  daily  heightened; 
fresh  odors  are  emitted,  and  new  sweets 
extracted  from  them.  He  who  hath 
once  tasted  their  excellences  will  de- 
sire to  taste  them  3'et  again,  and  he 
who  tastes  them  oftenest  will  relish 
them  best.  And  now,  could  the  author 
flatter  himself  that  any  one  would 
take  half  the  pleasure  in  reading  his 
work  which  he  hath  taken  in  writing 
it,  he  would  not  fear  the  loss  of  his 
labor.  The  employment  detached  him 
from  the  bustle  and  hurry  of  life,  the 
din  of  politics,  and  the  noise  of  folly; 
vanity  and  vexation  flew  away  for  a 
season;  care  and  disquietude  came  not 
near  his  dwelling.  He  arose,  fresh  as 
the  morning,  to  his  task ;  the  silence 
of  the  night  invited  him  to  pursue  it; 
and  he  can  truly  say  that  food  and 
rest  were  not  preferred  before  it.  Every 
Psalm  improved  infinitely  upon  his  ac- 
quaintance with  it,  and  no  one  gave 
him  uneasiness  but  the  last;  for  then 


PLEASING   AND    COMFOETING   LITEEATUEB, 


59 


he  grieved  that  his  work  was  done. 
Happier  hours  than  those  which  have 
been  spent  in  these  meditations  on  the 
songs  of  Zion  he  never  exjiects  to  see 
iu  this  world.  Very  pleasantly  did 
they  pass,  and  moved  smoothly  and 
swiftly  along;  for,  when  thus  engaged, 
he  counted  no  time.  They  are  gone, 
but  have  left  a  relish  and  a  fragrance 
upon  the  mind,  and  the  remembrance 
of  them  is  sweet. 

David's  description  of  the  deity. 

Bless  the  Lord,  O  my  soul !  0  Lord, 
my  God,  thou  art  very  great:  thou  art 
clothed  with  honor  and  majesty.  Who 
coverest  thyself  with  light  as  with  a 
garment :  who  stretchest  out  the  heavens 
like  a  curtain:  who  layeth  the  beams 
of  his  chambers  in  the  waters:  who 
maketh  the  clouds  his  chariot:  who 
walketh  upon  the  wings  of  the  wind: 
who  maketh  his  angels  spirits ;  his 
ministers  a  flaming  fire:  who  laid  the 
foundations  of  the  earth,  that  it  should 
not  be  removed  forever.  Thou  coveredst 
it  with  the  deep  as  with  a  garment: 
the  waters  stood  above  the  mountains. 
At  thy  rebuke  they  fled;  at  the  voice 
of  thy  thunder  they  hasted  away.  They 
go  up  the  mountains;  they  go  down 
by  the  valleys,  unto  the  place  which 
thou  hast  founded  for  them.  Thou  hast 
set  a  bound  that  they  may  not  pass 
oVer;  that  they  turn  not  again  to  cover 
the  earth.  He  sendeth  the  springs  into 
the  valleys,  which  run  among  the  hills. 
They  give  drink  to  every  beast  of  the 
field:  the  wild  asses  quench  their  thirst. 
By  them  shall  the  fowls  of  the  heaven 
have  their  habitation,  which  sing  among 
the  branches.  He  watereth  the  hills 
from  his  chambers:  the  earth  is  satis- 
fied with  the  fruit  of  thy  works.  He 
causeth  the  grass  to  grow  for  the  cat- 
tle, and  herb  for  the  service  of  man: 
that  he  may  bring  forth  food  out  of 
the  earth ;  and  oil  to  make  his  face  to 
shine,  and  bread  which  strengtheneth 
a  man's  heart.     The  trees  of  the  Lord 


are  full  of  sap;  the  cedars  of  Lebanon, 
which  he  hath  planted ;  where  the  birds 
make  their  nests:  as  for  the  stork,  the 
fir-trees  are  her  house.  The  high  hills 
are  a  refuge  for  the  wild  goats ;  and 
the  rocks  for  the  conies.  He  appointeth 
the  moon  for  seasons :  the  sun  knoweth 
his  going  down.  Thou  makest  dark-' 
ness,  and  it  is  night:  wherein  all  the 
beasts  of  the  forest  do  creep  forth. 
The  3'oung  lions  roar  after  their  prey, 
and  seek  their  meat  from  God.  The 
sun  ariseth,  they  gather  themselves 
together,  and  lay  them  down  in  their 
dens.  Man  goeth  forth  unto  his  work, 
and  to  his  labor  until  the  evening.  O 
Lord,  how  manifold  are  thy  works!  in 
wisdom  hast  thou  made  them  all:  the 
earth  is  full  of  thy  riches.  So  is  this 
great  and  wide  sea,  wherein  are  things 
creeping  innumerable,  both  small  and 
great  beasts.  There  go  the  ships :  there 
is  that  leviathan,  which  thou  hast  made 
to  play  therein.  These  wait  all  u]jon 
thee,  that  thou  mayest  give  them  their 
meat  in  due  season.  That  thou  givcst 
them,  they  gather:  thou  openest  thy 
hand,  they  are  filled  with  good.  Thou 
hidest  thy  face,  they  are  troubled; 
thou  takest  away  their  breath,  they 
die,  and  return  to  their  dust.  Thou 
sendest  forth  thy  spirit,  they  are  cre- 
ated: and  thou  rcnewest  the  face  of 
the  earth.  The  glory  of  the  Lord  shall 
endure  forever;  "the  Lord  shall  rejoice 
in  his  works.  He  looketh  on  the  earth, 
and  it  trembleth  :  ho  toucheth  the  hills, 
and  they  smoke.  I  will  sing  unto  the 
Lord  as  long  as  I  live :  1  will  sing  praises 
to  my  God  Avhile  I  have  my  being.  My 
meditation  of  him  shall  be  sweet:  I  will 
be  glad  in  the  Lord. 


HOLT  SCRIPTURE. 


Who  has  this  Book  and  reads  it  not 
Doth  God  himself  despise; 

Who  reads  but  understandeth  not, 
His  soul  in  darkness  lies. 


60 


SUNDAY    BOOK    OF 


Who  understands,  but  savors  not, 
He  finds  no  rest  in  trouble; 

Who  savors  but  obeyeth  not, 
He  hath  his  judgment  double. 

Who  reads  this  book,  who  understands, 

Doth  savor  and  obey, 
His  soul  shall  stand  at  God's  right  hand, 

In  the  great  Judgment  Day. 


POOTSTEPS  OP  ANGELS. 


[Henry  Wordsworth  Longfellow;  born  in  Portland,  Maine, 
in  1807.J 

When  the  hours  of  Day  are  numbered. 
And  the  voices  of  the  Night 

Wake  the  better  soul  that  slumbered, 
In  a  holy,  calm  delight ; 

Ere  the  evening  lamps  are  lighted, 
And,  like  phantoms  grim  and  tall, 

Shadows  from  the  fitful  fire-light 
Dance  upon  the  parlor  wall; 

Then  the  forms  of  the  departed 

Enter  at  the  open  door ; 
'y.'he  beloved,  the  true-hearted, 

Come  to  visit  me  once  more ; 

He,  the  young  and  strong,  who  cher- 
ished 

Noble  longings  for  the  strife. 
By  the  road-side  fell  and  perished, 

Weary  with  the  march  of  life! 

They,  the  holy  ones  and  weakly. 
Who  the  cross  of  suftering  bore. 

Folded  their  pale  hands  so  meekly, 
Spake  with  us  on  earth  no  more ! 

And  with  them  the  Being  Beauteous, 
Who  unto  my  youth  was  given, 

More  than  all  things  else  to  love  me, 
And  is  now  a  saint  in  Heaven. 

With  a  slow  and  noiseless  footstep 
Comes  the  messenger  divine. 

Takes  the  vacant  chair  beside  me, 
Lays  her  gentle  hand  in  mine. 


And  she  sits  and  gazes  at  me 

With  those  deep  and  tender  eyes. 

Like  the  stars,  so  still  and  saintlike, 
Looking  downward  from  the  skies. 

Uttered  not,  yet  comprehended, 
Is  the  spirit's  voiceless  prayer, 

Soft  rebukes,  in  blessings  ended, 
Breathing  from  her  lips  of  air, 

O,  though  oft  depressed  and  lonely, 
All  my  fears  are  laid  aside, 

If  I  but  remember  only 

Such  as  these  have  lived,  and  died. 


THE  HAPPY  LIPE. 
[Sir  Henry  Wotten ;  born  in  1568 ;  died  in  1639.] 

How  happy  is  he  born  and  taught 
That  serveth  not  another's  will ; 

Whose  armor  is  his  honest  thought. 
And  simple  truth  his  utmost  skill ; 

Whose  passions  not  his  masters  are, 
Whose  soul  is  still  prejmred  for  death. 

Untied  unto  the  worldly  care 

Of  jDublic  fame,  or  private  breath  ; 

Who  envies  none  that  chance  doth  raise, 
Or  vice ;  who  never  understood 

How  deepest   wounds  are  given  by 
praise, 
Nor  rules  of  state,  but  rules  of  good ; 

Who  hath  his  life  from  rumors  freed, 
Whose  conscience  is  his  strong  re- 
treat ; 

Whose  state  can  neither  flatterers  feed, 
Nor  ruin  make  oppressors  great ; 

Who  God  doth  late  and  early  pray, 
More  of  his  grace  than  gifts  to  lend, 

And  entertains  the  harmless  day, 
With  a  religious  book  or  friend. 

This  man  is  freed  from  servile  bands 
Of  hope  to  rise,  or  fear  to  fall ; 

Lord  of  himself,  though  not  of  lands, 
And  having  nothing,  yet  hath  all. 


PLEASING    AND    COMFOETING    LITEEATURE. 


61 


EESIQNATION. 


LONGFEILOW. 


There  is  no  flock,  however  watched  and 
tended, 

But  one  dead  lamb  is  there  I 
There  is  no  fireside,  howsoe'er  defended, 

But  has  one  vacant  chair. 

The  air  is  full  of  farewells  to  the  dying, 
And  mourning  for  the  dead  ; 

The  heart  of  Eachel,  for  her  children 
crying. 
Will  not  be  comforted ! 

Let  lis  be  patient!     These  severe  afflic- 
tions 

Not  from  the  ground  arise, 
But  oftentimes  celestial  benedictions 

Assume  this  dark  disguise. 

We  see  but  dimly  through  the  mists  and 
vapors ; 

Amid  these  earthly  damps ; 
What  seem  to  us  but  sad,  funei'eal  tapers, 

May  be  Heaven's  distant  lamps. 

There  is  no  Death !     What  seems  to  be 
so  is  transition  ; 

This  life  of  mortal  breath 
Is  but  a  suburb  of  the  life  Elysian, 

Whose  portal  we  call  Death. 

She  is  not  dead — the  child  of  our  affec- 
tion— 
But  gone  unto  that  school 
Where  she   no  longer   needs  our  poor 
protection, 
And  Christ  himself  doth  rule. 

In  that  great  cloister's  stillness  and 
seclusion. 
By  guardian  angels  led. 
Safe  from  temptation,  safe  from  sin's 
pollution. 
She  lives,  whom  we  call  dead. 

Day  after  day  we  think  what  she  is 
doing 
In  those  bright  realms  of  air : 


Year  after  year,  her  tender  steps  pur- 
suing, 
Behold  her  grown  more  fair. 

Thus  do  we  walk  with  her,  and  keep 
unbroken 
The  bond  which  nature  gives. 
Thinking  that  our  remembrance,  though 
unspoken, 
May  reach  her  where  she  lives. 

Not  as  a  child  shall  we  again  behold  her; 

For,  when  Avith  raptures  wild. 
In  our  embraces  we  again  enfold  her, 

She  will  not  be  a  child; 

But  a  fair  maiden  in  her  father's  man- 
sion, 
Clothed  with  celestial  grace; 
And  beautiful  wnth  all  the  soul's  expan- 
sion 
Shall  we  behold  her  face. 

And  though  at  times   impetuous  with 
emotion 
And  anguish  long  suppressed. 
The  swelling  heart  heaves  moaning  like 
the  ocean 
That  can  not  be  at  rest, — 

We  will  be' patient,  and  assuage  the 
feeling 

We  may  not  wholly  stay ; 
By  silence  sanctifying,  not  concealing. 

The  grief  that  must  have  way. 


THE  GRAND  OBJECT  OF  RELIGION. 

DR.   CLABK. 

The  end  and  design  of  all  religion; 
the  proper  eftect  and  produce  of  good 
principles;  the  good  fruit  of  a  good  tree; 
the  ultimate  view  and  the  fundamental 
intention  of  all  religious  truths  implanted 
in  men,  cither  by  nature  or  teaching,  is 
the  practice  of  virtue.  For  the  word  re- 
ligion, in  its  very  native  and  original 
meaning,  signifies  an  obligation  upon 
men,  arising  from  the  reason  of  things, 
and  from  the  government  of  God,  to  do 


62 


SUNDAY   BOOK    OF 


what  is  just,  and  virtuous,  and  good;  to 
live  in  a  constant,  habitual  sense  and 
acknowledgment  of  God,  in  the  practice 
of  universal  justice  and  charity  toward 
men,  and  in  a  regular  and  sober  gov- 
ernment of  their  own  passions,  under  a 
firm  persuasion  and  continual  expecta- 
tion of  the  righteous  distribution  of  re- 
wards and  punishment  at  their  proper 
season,  in  the  eternal  judgment  of  Grod. 
This  is  the  foundation  of  religion,  the 
fundamental  doctrine,  in  all  places  and 
at  all  times,  invariable  and  eternal. 
This,  being  corrupted  by  numerous  su- 
perstitions among  the  Jews,  and  by  the 
absurdest  idolatries  and  most  enormous 
immoralities  among  the  heathen,  Christ 
came  into  the  world  to  restore;  and  by 
the  preaching  of  forgiveness  upon  true 
repentance  and  effectual  amendment  of 
life  and  manners,  to  bring  back  sinners 
to  the  kingdom  of  God,  through  the 
obedience  of  the  Gospel.  In  proportion, 
therefore,  as  any  doctrine  of  truth  has 
a  greater  or  more  proj^er  and  more 
immediate  tendency  to  promote  this 
great  end,  to  produce  this  fruit  of  the 
spirit,  exactly  the  very  same  propor- 
tion has  it  of  weight  and  excellency 
in  the  religious  estimation  of  things  ;  it 
is  gold,  or  silver,  or  precious  stones  (in 
the  Apostle's  language)  built  upon  the 
foundation  of  Christ.  And,  on  the  other 
side,  any  erroneous  opinion,  in  proj^or- 
tion  as  it  has  any  or  no  moral  influence, 
in  the  very  same  proportion  it  is  faulty 
or  innocent.  It  is  (in  St.  Paul's  simili- 
tude) either  wood,  hay,  stubble,  some- 
thing that  is  merely  lost  labor,  useless 
only,  and  insignificant  and  of  no  strength 
in  the  building,  or  else  it  is  opposite  to 
and  destructive  of  the  very  foundation 
of  the  temple  of*  God.  It  is  (in  the 
analogy  of  our  Savior's  parable)  that 
Avhich  denominates  a  man  either  to  be 
a  vine,  in  which  are  many  fruitless 
branches,  or  that  he  is  a  thorn  or  a 
bramble  bush,  from  which  it  is  impos- 
sible to  expect  there  should  ever  at  all 
be  gathered  figs  or  graj)e8. 


OOMFOETS  OF  EELiaiON. 


There  are  many  who  have  passed  the 
age  of  youth  and  beauty,  who  have  re- 
signed the  pleasures  of  that  smiling 
season,  who  begin  to  decline  into  the 
vale  of  years,  impaired  in  their  health, 
depressed  in  their  fortunes,  stripped  of 
their  friends,  their  children,  and  perhaps 
still  more  tender  connections.  What 
resources  can  this  world  afford  them? 
It  presents  a  dark  and  dreary  waste, 
through  which  there  does  not  issue  a 
single  ray  of  comfort.  Every  delusive 
prospect  of  ambition  is  now  at  an  end; 
long  experience  of  mankind,  an  expe- 
rience very  different  from  what  the  open 
and  generous  soul  of  youth  had  fondly 
dreamt  of,  has  rendered  the  heart  almost 
inaccessible  to  new  friendships.  The 
principal  sources  of  activity  are  taken 
away  when  those  for  whom  we  labor 
are  cut  off  from  us,  those  who  animated, 
and  those  who  sweetened  all  the  toils  of 
life.  "Where,  then,  can  the  soul  find  ref- 
uge but  in  the  bosom  of  religion  ?  There 
she  is  admitted  to  those  prospects  of 
jorovidence  and  futurity  which  alone 
can  warm  and  fill  the  heart.  I  sjieak 
here  of  such  as  retain  the  feelings  of 
humanity,  whom  misfortianes  have  soft- 
ened, and  perhaps  rendered  more  deli- 
cately sensible;  not  of  such  as  possess 
that  stupid  insensibility  which  some  are 
pleased  to  dignify  with  the  name  of 
philosophy. 

It  should,  therefore,  be  expected  that 
those  philosophers  who  stand  in  no 
need  themselves  of  the  assistance  of 
religion  to  support  their  virtue,  and  who 
never  feel  the  want  of  its  consolations, 
would  yet  have  the  humanity  to  con- 
sider the  very  different  situation  of  the 
rest  of  mankind,  and  not  endeavor  to 
deprive  them  of  what  habit,  at  least,  if 
they  will  not  allow  it  to  be  nature,  has 
made  necessary  to  their  morals  and  to 
their  happiness.  It  might  be  expected 
that  humanity  would  prevent  them  from 


PLEASING  AND  COMFOETING  LITEEATUBE. 


63 


breaking  into  the  last  retreat  of  the  un- 
fortunate, who  can  no  longer  be  objects 
of  their  envy  or  resentment,  and  tear- 
ing from  them  their  only  remaining 
comfort.  The  attempt  to  ridicule  re- 
ligion may  be  agreeable  to  some,  by 
relieving  them  from  restraint  iipon  their 
jileasures,  and  may  render  others  very 
miserable  by  making  them  doubt  those 
truths  in  which  they  were  most  deeply 
interested;  but  it  can  convey  real  good 
and  happiness  to  no  one  individual. 


TEUST  IS  GOD,  AND  DO  THE  EIGHT. 


NOEMAN  M  LEOD. 


Courage,  brother,  do  not  stumble, 
Though  thy  path  be  dark  as  night ; 

There's  a  star  to  guide  the  humble; — 
"Trust  in  God,  and  do  the  right." 

Let  the  road  be  rough  and  dreary, 
And  its  end  far  out  of  sight. 

Foot  it  bravely !  strong,  or  weary, 
"Trust  in  God,  and  do  the  right." 

Perish  policy  and  cunning  ! 

Perish  all  that  fears  the  light! 
Whether  losing,  whether  winning, 

"Trust  in  God,  and  do  the  right!" 

Trust  no  party,  sect,  or  faction ; 

Trust  no  leaders  in  the  fight; 
But  in  every  word  and  action, 

"Trust  in  God,  and  do  the  right." 

Trust  no  lovely  forms  of  passion : 
Fiends  may  look  like  angels  bright; 

Trust  no  custom,  school,  or  fashion, 
"Trust  in  God,  and  do  the  right." 

Simple  rule,  and  safest  guiding, 
Inward  peace,  and  inward  might, 

Star  upon  our  path  abiding, 

"Trust  in  God,  and  do  the  right." 

Some  will  hate  thee,  some  will  love  thee. 
Some  will  flatter,  some  will  slight: 

Cease  from  man,  and  look  above  thee, 
"Trust  in  God,  and  do  the  right." 


A  GOOD  CONSCIENCE. 


B.  SOUTHWELL. 


My  conscience  is  my  crown: 
Contented  thoughts  my  rest; 

M;^  heart  is  happy  in  itself; 
My  bliss  is  in  my  breast. 

Enough,  I  reckon  wealth; 

A  mean,  the  surest  lot; 
That  lies  too  high  for  base  contempt, 

Too  low  for  envy's  shot. 

My  wishes  are  but  few, 

All  easy  to  fulfill : 
I  make  the  limits  of  my  power 

The  bounds  unto  my  will. 

I  feel  no  care  of  coin ; 

Well-doing  is  my  wealth: 
My  mind  to  me  an  empire  is 

While  Grace  affordeth  health. 


I  wrestle  not  with  rage. 

While  fury's  flame  doth  burn  ; 

It  is  in  vain  to  stop  the  stream, 
Until  the  tide  doth  turn. 

But  when  the  flame  is  out, 
And  ebbing  wrath  doth  end, 

I  turn  a  late  enraged  foe 
Into  a  quiet  friend; 

And  taught  with  often  proof, 

A  tempered  calm  I  find 
To  be  most  solace  to  itself. 

Best  cure  for  angry  mind. 

No  change  of  fortune's  calms 
Can  cast  my  comforts  down; 

When  fortune  smiles,  I  smile  to  tbmft 
How  quickly  she  will  frown; 

And  when,  in  froward  mood, 

She  moved  an  angry  foe. 
Small  gain  I  found  to  let  her  come, 

Lessloss  to  let  her  go. 


64 


su:n^day  book  of 


MAN'S  MORTALITY. 
[Simon  Wastell,  an  Englishman ;  died  230  years  ago.] 

Like  as  the  damask  rose  you  see, 
Or  as  the  blossom  on  the  tree, 
rOr  like  the  dainty  flower  of  May, 
Or  like  the  morning  to  the  day, 
Or  like  the  sun,  or  like  the  shade, 
Or  like  the  gourd  which  Jonas  had, 
E'en  such  is  man ; — whose  thread  is 

spun. 
Drawn  out,  and  cut,  and  so  is  done. 
The  rose  withers,  the  blossom  blasteth. 
The  flower  flxdes,  the  morning  hasteth. 
The  sun  sets,  the  shadow  flies, 
The  gourd  consumes — and  man,  he  dies. 
Like  to  the  gi*ass  that 's  newly  sprung, 
Or  like  a  tale  that 's  new  begun, 
Or  like  the  bird  that 's  here  to-day, 
Or  like  the  pearled  dew  of  May, 
Or  like  an  hour,  or  like  a  span, 
Or  like  the  singing  of  a  swan. 
E'en  such  is  man ; — who  lives  by  breath. 
Is  here,  now  there,  in  life,  and  death. 
The  grass  withers,  the  tale  is  ended. 
The  bird  is  flown,  the  dews  ascended, 
The  hour  is  short,  the  span  not  long. 
The  swan's  near  death, — man's  life  is 

done. 


THE  INFLUENCE  OF  THE  FAEENTAL 
CHARACTER. 

[Eev.  Richard  Cecil,  a  ck-igyuiaii  of  the  Church  of  England ; 
born  iu  17-lS,  died  in  ISIO.J 

The  influence  of  the  parental  charac- 
ter upon  children  is  not  to  be  calculated. 
Evei'y  thing  around  has  an  influence  on 
us.  Indeed,  the  influence  of  things  is 
so  great  that,  by  familiarity  with  them, 
they  insensibly  approach  us  on  princi- 
ples and  feelings  which  we  before  ab- 
horred. I  knew  a  man  who  took  in  a 
democratical  paper  only  to  laugh  at  it. 
But  at  length  he  had  read  the  same 
things  again  and  again,  so  often,  that  he 
began  to  think  there  must  be  truth  in 
them,  and  that  men  and  measures  were 
really  such  as  they  were  so  often  said 
to  be.  A  drop  of  water  seems  to  have 
no  influence  on  a  stone,  but  it  will,  in 


the  end,  wear  its  way  through.  If  there 
be,  therefore,  such  a  mighty  influence  in 
every  thing  around  us,  the  parental  in- 
fluence must  be  great  indeed. 

Consistency  is  the  great  character,  in 
good  parents,  which  impresses  children. 
They  may  witness  much  temper,  but  if 
they  see  their  fother  "keep  the  even 
tenor  of  his  way,"  his  imperfections  will 
be  understood  and  allowed  for  as  reason 
opens.  The  child  will  see  and  reflect 
on  his  parent's  intention,  and  this  will 
have  great  influence  on  his  mind.  This 
influence  may,  ii^deed,  be  afterward  coun- 
teracted, but  that  only  proves  that  con- 
trary currents  may  arise  and  carry  tb 
child  another  way.  Old  Adam  may  b' 
too  strong  for  young  Melancthon. 

The  implantation  of  principles  is  q' 
unspeakable  importance,  especially  when, 
culled,  from  time  to  time,  out  of  the  Bible,, 
The  child  feels  his  parent's  authority 
supported  by  the  Bible,  and  the  au- 
thority of  the  Bible  supported  by  his 
parent's  weight  and  influence.  They 
stand  in  his  way.  He  wishes  to  forget 
them,  pei'haps,  but  it  is  impossible. 
Where  parental  influence  does  not  con- 
vert, it  hampers.  It  hangs  on  the  wheels 
of  evil.  I  had  a  pious  mother,  who 
dropped  things  in  my  way.  I  could 
never  rid  myself  of  them.  I  was  a  pro- 
fessed infidel,  but  then  I  liked  to  be  an 
infidel  in  company  rather  than  when 
alone.  I  was  wretched  when  by  myself. 
These  princij^les,  and  maxims,  and  data 
spoiled  my  jollity.  With  my  comi^an- 
ions,  I  could  sometimes  stifle  them  ;  like 
embers,  we  kept  one  another  warm. 
Besides,  I  was  here  a  sort  of  hero.  I 
had  beguiled  several  of  my  associates 
into  my  own  opinions,  to  seethe  "Minor." 
Hecould  laugh  heartily  at  Mother  Cole; 
I  could  not.  He  saw  in  her  the  picture 
of  all  who  talked  about  religion  ;  I  knew 
better.  The  ridicule  on  regeneration  was 
high  sport  to  him ;  to  me  it  was  none. 
It  could  not  move  my  features.  He  knew 
no  diff'erence  between  regeneration  and 
transubstantiation;  I  did.    I  knew  there 


PLEASING    AND    COMFORTING   LITERATUEE. 


65 


was  such  a  thing.  I  -was  afraid  and 
ashamed  to  laugh  at  it.  Parental  in- 
fluence thus  cleaves  to  a  man;  it  har- 
rasses  him,  it  throws  itself  continually 
in  his  way. 

I  find  in  myself  another  evidence  of 
the  greatness  of  j^arental  influence.  I 
detect  myself  to  this  day  in  laying  down 
maxims  in  my  family  which  I  took  up 
at  three  or  four  years  of  age,  before  I 
could  possibly  know  the  reason  of  the 
thing. 

It  is  of  incalculable  importance  to  ob- 
tain a  hold  on  the  conscience.  Children 
have  a  conscience,  and  it  is  not  seared,' 
though  it  is  evil.  Bringing  the  eternal 
world  into  their  view — planning  and 
acting  with  that  world  before  us — this 
gains,  at  length,  such  a  hold  on  them 
that,  with  all  the  infidel  poison  which 
they  may  afterward  imbibe,  there  are 
few  children  who,  at  night,  in  their 
chamber,  in  the  dark,  in  a  storm  of 
thunder,  will  not  feel.  They  can  not 
cheat  like  other  men.  They  recollect 
that  eternity  which  stands  in  their  way. 
It  rises  up  before  them,  like  the  ghost 
of  Banquo  to  Macbeth.  It  goads  them, 
it  thunders  in  their  ears.  After  all,  they 
are  obliged  to  compound  the  matter 
with  conscience,  if  they  can  not  be  jjre- 
vailed  on  to  return  to  God  without  de- 
lay. I  must  be  religious  at  one  time  or 
other,  that  is  clear.  I  can  not  get  rid 
of  this  thing.  ^Y^\\,  I  will  begin  at  such 
a  time.  I  will  finish  such  a  scheme,  and 
then ! 

The  opinions,  the  spirit,  the  conversa- 
tion, the  maimer  of  the  parent  influ- 
ences the  child.  Whatever  sort  of  man 
he  is,  such,  in  a  great  degree,  will  be 
the  child,  unless  constitution  or  accident 
give  him  another  turn.  If  the  parent 
is  a  fantastic  man,  if  he  is  a  genealogist, 
knows  nothing  but  who  married  such 
an  one  and  who  married  such  an  one; 
if  he  is  a  sensualist,  a  low  wretch,  his 
children  will  usually  catch  these  tastes. 
If  he  is  a  literary  man,  his  very  girls 
will  talk  learnedly.     If  he  is  a  griping, 


hard,  miserly  man,  such  will  be  his  chil- 
dren. This  I  speak  of  as  being  generally 
the  case.  It  may  happen  that  the  par- 
ent's disposition  may  have  no  ground  to 
work  on  in  that  of  the  child.  It  may 
happen  that  the  child  may  be  driven 
into  disgust;  the  miser,  for  instance, 
often  imj)lants  disgust,  and  his  son  be- 
comes a  spendthrift. 

After  all,  in  some  cases,  perhaps,  every 
thing  seems  to  have  been  done  and 
exhibited  by  the  pious  parent  in  vain. 
Yet  he  casts  his  bread  upon  the  icaters. 
And  perhaps,  after  he  has  been  in  his 
grave  twenty  years,  his  son  remembers 
what  his  father  told  him. 

Besides,  parental  influence  must  be 
great,  because  God  has  said  that  it  shall 
be  so.  The  parent  is  not  to  stand  rea- 
soning and  calculating.  God  has  said 
that  his  character  shall  have  influence. 

And  this  appointment  of  Providence 
becomes  often  the  punishment  of  a 
wicked  man.  Such  a  man  is  a  complete 
selfist.  I  am  weary  of  hearing  such  men 
talk  about  their  "fiiinily"  and  their 
"  family  ;"  they  "must  provide  for  their 
family."  Their  family  has  no  place  in 
their  real  regard.  They  push  for  them- 
selves. But  God  says,  "No  !  You  think 
your  children  shall  be  so  and  so;  but 
they  shall  bo  rods  for  their  own  backs. 
They  shall  be  your  curse.  They  shall 
rise  up  against  j'ou."  The  most  common 
of  all  human  complaints  is,  parents 
groaning  under  the  vices  of  their  chil- 
dren !  This  is  all  the  eflect  of  parental 
influence. 

In  the  exercise  of  this  influence  there 
are  two  leading  dangers  to  be  avoided. 

Excess  of  severity  is  one  danger.  My 
mother,  on  the  contrary,  would  talk  to 
me,  and  weep  as  she  talked.  I  flung 
out  of  the  house  with  an  oath,  but  wept, 
too,  when  I  got  into  the  street.  Sym- 
pathy is  the  powerful  engine  of  a  mother. 
I  was  desperate.  I  would  go  on  board 
a  privateer.  But  there  are  soft  moments 
to  such  desperadoes.  God  docs  not  at 
once     abandon     them     to    themselves. 


66 


SUNDAY   BOOK   OF 


There  are  times  when  the  man  says,  "I 
should  be  glad  to  return,  but  1  should 
not  like  to  meet  that  face!"  if  he  has 
been  treated  with  severity. 

Yet  excess  of  laxity  is  another  danger. 
The  case  of  Eli  ai^'ords  a  serious  warn- 
ing on  this  subject.  Instead  of  his  mild 
expostulation  of  the  flagrant  wickedness 
of  his  sons — "Na}'',  my  sons,  it  is  no  good 
rejDOrt  that  I  hear" — he  ought  to  have 
exercised  his  authority  as  a  jiarent  and 
magistrate  in  punishing  and  restraining 
their  crimes. 


HONOR  NEALE. 


ARCHBISHOP   TRENCH. 

*  *  *  * 

*  *      A  little  cottage  girl 
"Was  Honor  Neale;  and  in  the  further  west 
Of  Ireland  stood  her  parents'  lowly  hut. 

For  some  brief  while  this  child  was  brought 

within 
The  holy  influence  of  a  better  faith 
Than   that  her  parents  held,  the   faith  of 

Rome — 
Attending  for  a  season  at  a  school 
Where  the  pure  doctrine  and  the  lore  of  Christ 
Was  truly  taught;  and  there  this  little  child, 
Though   slow  to   learn,  yet  rendered   earnest 

heed 
To  all  she  heard;  but  after  some  short  time. 
Before  it  could  be  known  if  that  good  seed 
Sown  in  her  heart  would  put  forth  blade  and 

ear, 
Her  parents,  whether  of  their  own  accord. 
Or  urged  by  some  suggestion  from  without. 
Withdrew  her,  and  she  labored  in  the  fieUls 
Beside  her  father.     'T  was  a  late  wet  spring. 
And  she,  of  weakly  frame,  could  ill  endure 
To  carry  heavy  burdens  on  her  back. 
As  she  was  tasked  to  do,  till  many  times 
She  left  her  labor,  and,  returning  home. 
Sat  down  and  cried  for  weariness  and  pain; 
But  still  her  mother,  thinking  that  she  made 
More  of  her  pains  than  need  was,  in  the  hope 
She  might  be  suffered  to  return  to  school, 
A  wish  she  failed  not  often  to  express. 
Would  sometimes  ask  her,  had  she  then  no 

mind 
To  lend  her  father  what  small  help  she  could. 
On  whom  the  burden  of  a  family 
Of  many  daughters  with  one  only  boy 
Pressed  heavily — and  then  without  a  word 
She  would  return  unto  her  work  again. 


But  soon  she  evidently  grew  too  weak 
For  toil,  and  soon  too  weak  to  leave  the  house, 
And  illness  that  was  doubtless  to  be  traced 
To  that  hard  toil,  had  settled  in  her  joints, 
And  on  her  breast,  long  illness,  full  of  pain. 
Three  years  in  all  it  lasted;  in  which  while, 
In  a  dark  corner  of  the  cottage  sitting. 
Much  in  her  reading  she  improved  herself, 
And  of  her  own  accord  she  learned  by  heart 
Some  hymns  with  which   she  solaced  lonely 

hours ; 
But  chiefly  was  delighted  when  they  came 
To  visit  her,  as  now  they  often  did. 
Who  with  a  lively  interest  kept  in  mind 
This  child,  somewhile  a  pupil  in  their  care. 
But  if  through  gracious  teaching  from  on  high, 
And   tlirough   that  lengthened   discipline   of 

pain. 
In  spirit  she  grew  fitter  for  her  change. 
In  body  she  grew  weaker  day  by  day; 
And  by  degrees  her  pains  had  so  increased 
That  when   it  was  announced    that  she  was 

gone, 
What  could  they  do,  who  knew  what  she  en- 
dured. 
But  render  hearty  thanks  for  her  release? 

Willing  to  speak  some  comfort  if  they  might 
Unto  the  sorrowing,  willing  too  to  learn 
How  at  the  last  it  was  with  this  poor  child. 
The  friends  of  whom  I  speak,  not  many  days 
After  the  tidings  reached  them  of  her  death. 
Knocked  at  the  cottage-door  yet  once  again. 
Much  was  the  mother  at  their  entrance  moved, 
For  all  the  past,  associated  with  them. 
Came  to  her  mind;  but  presently  she  spoke, 
And  seemed  to  find  much  comfort  and  relief 
In  talking  freely  of  her  child,  and  all 
Her  sorrow  into  sympathizing  ears 
Outpouring,  and  abruptly  thus  began — 
"  For  months  before  she   died  she  slept  with 

me. 
For  I  had  pains  and  troubles  of  my  own. 
Which  would  have  kept  me  wak'ing  anyhow. 
And  I  was  glad  the  others  in  the  house. 
Who  had   been    toiling    hard    the   whole  day 

long. 
And  could  enjoy   sound   sleep,   should   have 

their  rest 
Unbroken.     Often  in  the  dark  dark  night. 
When  all  the  house  was  quiet,  she  would  say, 
If  I  had  risen  to  move  her  in  the  bed 
More  times  than  common,  or  to  give  her  drink, 
'Oh,  mother,  when  you  used  to  bid  me  do 
Things  which  I  did  not  like,  how  many  times 
I  disobeyed  you — I  am  much  afraid 
I  oftened  vexed  and  grieved  you  at  the  heart' 


PLEASIXG    AND    COMFOETING    LITEEATUEE, 


G7 


'  No,  Honor,  you  were  always  a  good  child,' 
I   answered;    and  'twas   nothing   more   than 

truth. 
Ah  !  sir,  if  she  were  sitting  by  my  side, 
I  should  not  now  be  praising  her  this  way; 
And  it  is  rather  I  should  grieve  to  think 
I  did  not  show  more  tenderness  to  her. 
For,  Honor,  had  I  thought  that  you  and  I 
Would  have  to  pai't  so  soon,  I  would  have 

been 
Much  kinder  to  you.     She  has  lain  awake 
For  hours  togetlier,  then,  as  if  a  tlionght 
Suddenly  struck  her, — 'Tliis  is  not  the  way 
I  should  be  praying.     Mother,  lift  me  up, 
And  set  the  pillow  under  my  soi'e  knee.' 
And  then  she  has  continued  so,  until 
Her  head  grew  heavy,  and  she  asked  again 
To  be  set  down.     How  often  in  the  night, 
When  all  is  quiet  in  the  lonesome  house, 
I  now  stretch  out  my  hands  and  feel  about. 
Betwixt  awake  and  sleeping,  round  the  bed — 
For  this  now  comes  of  course,  and  when  my 

hands 
Find  nothing,  feeling  round  in  emptiness, 
Oh  then  it  is,  or  when  the  dreary  light 
Of  morning  comes,  my  grief  sits  heaviest  on 

me. 
As  though  my  loss  were  but  of  yesterday, 
So  that  I  scarce  have  strength  to  lift  my  hand. 
Or  go  about  the  needful  work  o'  the  house. 
But  as  the  day  gets  forward,  what  with  tasks 
That  must' be  done,  and  neighbors  coming  in, 
And  pleasant  light  of  the  sun,  and  cheerful 

Bounds, 
My   heart  grows   somewhat  lighter,   till    the 

weight 
Of  all  comes  back  at  evening  again. 

The  very  day  before  she  died,  she  said, 
'.Dear  mother,  would  you  lift  me  in  your  arms. 
And  carry  me  this  once  over  the  door. 
That  I  might  look  on  the  green  fields  again  ?' 
The  day  was  cold  and  raw — and  I  refused. 
Till  seeing  that  her  mind  was  set  on  tliis, 
I  wrapt  tlie  blanket  round  her  safe  and  warm ; 
But  wlien  I  took  her  in  my  arms,  it  went 
Unto  my  heart — I  raised  her  with  such  ease  ! 
She  had  so  pined  and  wasted  that  her  weight 
Was  even  as  notliing;  but  I  bore  her  out 
Into  the  air,  and  carried  her  all  round 
The  clover-field,  and  showed  her  every  thing; 
And  as  I  brought  her  back  slie  only  said. 
Supposing  I  was  wearied  with  her  weight, 
*I  uever  shall  be  asking  this  again.' 

And  the  last  day,  the  morning  tliat  she  died, 
She  was  as  usual  reading  in  the  book 


Which  had  been  given  her  when  she  quitted 

school; 
Ah !  sir,  I  have  forgotten  most  of  what 
Was  in  that  book;  but  when  I  call  to  mind 
Its  beautiful  words,  it  makes  me  sad  to  think 
That  there  was  no  such  learning  in  my  time, 
For  so  I  might  be  reading  now  mrself 
The  very  words  that  I  liave  heard  her  read, 
And  maybe  might  find  comfort  for  my  grief; 
I  know  at  least  that  she  found  comfort  there, 
'T  was  that  which  made  her  happy  at  the  last. 
For  at  the  first,  when  first  her  pains  began, 
She  could  not   bear   to    think    that  she  was. 

dying, 
And  would  grow  angry  if  a  neighbor  spoke 
As  though  her  end  was  near;    and  the  first 

time 
She  was  persuaded  she  could  not  recover, 
'Oh,  mother!'  she  cried  out  in  agony, 
'Where  am  I  going?     Am  I  going  where 
I  never  can  come  back  to  you  again? 
And  shall  I  not  talk  to  you  any  more, 
And  never  sit  beside  you,  and  look  up 
Into  your  face,  when  you  are  suffering  pain, 
And  ask  what  ails  you  ?'     Then  she  would  at 

first 
Be  at  some  times  impatient  in  her  pains. 
And  then  I  could  do  nothing  to  her  mind. 
But  for  the  last  months  of  her  life  she  seemed 
To  think  that  each  thing  was  too  good  for  her, 
And  any  little  service  done  by  any. 
And  every  little  present  whiCh  was  brought 
By  a  kind  neighbor,  was  enough  to  make 
The  thankful  tears  to  come  into  her  eyes. 
In  all  your  life  you  never  could  have  seea 
One  young  or  old  so  willing  to  depart. 
Nor  yet  so  ready;  'tis  not  I  alone 
Say  this,  but  one  who  had  more  right  to  know. 

For  't  was  about  three  weeks  before  the  last. 
We  saw  that  there  was  something  on  her  mind, 
And  questioning  her,  she  answered  that  she 

wished 
To  see  the  Priest,  and  to  confess  herself 
Once  more  before  slie  died.    He  came  at  once. 
And  was  alone  with  her  for  near  an  hour; 
And  when  he  just  was  standing  at  the  door, 
Keady  to  mount  his  horse,  I  heard  liini  say 
Unto  some  neighbors  that  were  standing  by — 
'I  never  saw  a  hai)pier,  holier  child 
Thau  that  is,  ready  to  depart  this  world.' 

But  then  as  he  was  taking  his  last  leave, 
She  fixed  her  eves  upon  liim  with  a  look 
As  though  she  had  left  something  still  unsaid. 
He  asked  her.  'Is  there  any  thing,  dear  child, 
You  have  forgotten  which  you  wish  to  telJ  ? 


68 


SUITDAT   BOOK   OF 


You  need  not  fear  to  speak  before  them  all.' 
'Well,  sir,'   she  answered,   'I  was  thinking, 

then, 
'Tis  now  about  three  years  ago  there  lived 
A  little  orphan  here,  and  she  and  I 
Were  often  sent  into  the  fields  together 
To  tend  the  cows;  and  when  't  was  cold  and  wet 
1  many  times  would  run  into  the  house, 
That  I  might  ask  my  mother  for  some  food. 
Or  warm  myself  awhile,  and  did  not  care 
To  leave  her  out  alone  in  all  the  cold: 
I  hoped  I  might  have  seen  her  before  this, 
*  And  have  her  pardon  asked  before  I  died. 
For  that  has  ever  since  been  on  my  mind, 
And  during  all  my  illness  troubling  me; 
For  had  she  had  a  mother  of  her  own, 
She  would  have  gone  to  her  as  stout  and  bold 
As  I  to  mine,  and  boldly  asked  of  her 
All  that  she  wanted.'    'You  are  a  happy  child. 
Dying  this  way,  and  grieving  so  your  heart 
For  such  a  little  sin;'  and  then  he  said, 
The  Priest  in  all  our  hearing  said,  '  I  wish 
That  I  had  died  when  I  was  of  your  age. 
So  not  to  have  more  sin  on  me  than  yours 
To  answer  for' — these  were  his  very  words. 

But  I  was  saying  that  the  day  she  died 
She  had  been  reading  for  some  little  time. 
And  then  complained  her  eyes  were  growing 

dim. 
And  bade   me  wipe  them.     I  was  just   then 

sweeping 
The  hearth,  and  had  made  up  our  little  fire; 
But  when   I  heard  her   speak   this   way,   I 

knew 
What  now  was  coming;  but  I  wiped  her  eyes 
As  she  desired — I  knew  it  was  no  use. 
And  presently  she  gave  me  back  the  book: 
'For,  mother  dear,'  she  said,  '  I  can  not  see 
To  read  a  single  word;'  and  just  as  though 
She  felt  she  would  not  want  it  any  more, 
Bade  me  to  place  it  carefully  aside. 
And,  putting  on  the  cover,  set  it  by 
In  the  hand-basket.      There  was  no  one  else 
In  all  the  house,  excepting  she  and  me — 
The  others  all  were  gone  unto  their  work. 
And  now  I  knew  the  time  was  close  at  hand, 
Which  had  been  drawing  on  for  near  three 

years. 
And  presently  I  spoke  to  her  again. 
And  now  she  made  no  answer — only  stretched 
Her  hand  out  to  me.     I  took  hold  of  it, 
But  in  a  moment  let  it  go  again, 
And  lighting  the  twelve  tapers  held  them 

there — ■ 
It  was  a  custom  that  my  mother  had, 
When  one  was  dying — so  I  lighted  them, 


And  being  lighted,  held  them  all  myself, 
For  there  were  none  beside  me  in  the  house. 
But  when  I  saw  the  breath  was  leaving  her 
I  dropped  them  all,  and  by  her  side  fell  down, 
But  soon  recovering  picked  them  up  again, 
And  held  them  there  till  they  were  all  burned 

down. 
And  as  the  last  of  them  was  going  out 
She  breathed  at   the  same  moment  her  last 

breath. 

And  she  is  gone,  sir — but  what  matter  now. 
What  matter  ?    She  was  but  a  little  child, 
Yet  Nature   can   not  choose   but  sometimeg 

grieve. 
And  must  have  way:  why  had  it  only  been 
A  stranger's  child  I  had  been  rearing  thus, 
And  tending  for  now  nearly  fourteen  years, 
My  heart  would  needs  be  sad  to  let  her  go. 
But  my  own  child,  my  darling  Honoreen, — 
Though  when  I  think  on  all  things,  I  believe 
That  I  am  glad  he  took  her  to  himself; 
It  may  be  I  shall  follow  before  long. 
For  I  am  a  poor  weak  creature  that  have 

seen 
Much  toil  and  trouble.     Blessed  be  his  name 
That  took  her  first:  if  I  had  gone  the  first. 
And  left  her  a  poor  cripple  in  the  world. 
No  doubt  they  would   have  all  been  kind  to 

her; 
But  who  is  like  a  mother? — even  if  they 
Had  wished  it  most,  they  never  could  have 

done 
What  I  have  done  for  her;  and  then  at  last 
She  might  have  wearied  all  their  patience  out. 
Then  blessings  be  upon  his  holy  name, 
Who  called  her  out  of  this  poor  sinful  world, 
And  took  her  to  himself. 

They  buried  her 
Down  in  the  valley  in  the  old  churchyard, 
Beside  the  ruined  church.     I  wished  to  go 
And  see  her  laid  within  her  little  grave; 
'T  would  have  been  better  for  me,  1  believe, 
If  they  had  suffered  me  to  go  with  them ; 
But  they  were  all  against  it,  and  that  time 
They  might  have  had  their  way  in  any  thing. 
But  when  I  saw  the  little  funeral 
Wind  down  the  field,  I  turned  and  shut  the 

door, 
And  sitting  on  a  stool  I  hid  my  face; 
I  know  not  what  it  was  came  over  me. 
But  I  grew  giddy,  and  fell  down,  and  struck 
My  head  against  the  corner  of  a  chair. 
And  there  has  been  a  noise  there  ever  since. 

And  now  I  thank  you.    Many  a  journey  long 


PLEASING   AND   COMFORTING   LITERATURE. 


G9 


You  took  through  wet  and  cold  to  see  my  child, 
And  she  found  much  of  comfort  in  your  words; 
And  at  the  last  I  think  was  better  pleased 
'J'o  go  than    stay.      Then  why  should  I  eo 

grieve? 
And  why  should  I  not  rather  feel  and  say, 
'T  was  the  best  nursing  that  I  ever  did, 
To  nurse  her  and  to  bring  her  up  for  Him, 
Who  called  her  to  the  knowledge  of  Himself, 
Then  took  her  out  of  this  poor  sinful  world?" 


CONTENT  AND  DISCONTENT. 

TBEKCH.      . 

Some  murmur,  when  their  sky  is  clear 

And  wholly  bright  to  view, 
If  one  small  speck  of  dark  appear 

In  their  great  heaven  of  blue. 
And  some  with  thankful  love  are  filled, 

If  but  one  streak  of  light. 
One  ray  of  God's  good  mercy  gild 

The  darkness  of  their  night. 

In  palaces  are  hearts  that  ask, 

In  discontent  and  pride. 
Why  life  is  such  a  dreary  task, 

And  all  good  things  denied. 
And  hearts  in  poorest  huts  admire 

How  Love  has  in  their  aid 
(Love  that  not  ever  seems  to  tire) 

Such  rich  provision  made. 

Thou  cam'st  not  to  thy  place  by  accident. 
It  is  the  vcr)'-  place  God  meant  for  thee  ; 
And  should'st  thou  there  small  scope  for 

action  see, 
Do  not  for  this  give  room  to  discontent; 
Nor  let  the  time  thou  owest  to  God  be 

spent 
In  idly  dreaming  how  thou  mightest  bo. 
In  what  concerns  thy  spiritual  life,  more 

free 
From    outward    hindrance    or    impedi- 
ment. 
For  presently  this  hindrance  thou  shalt 

find 
That  without  which  all  goodness  were  a 

task 
So  slight,  that  Virtue  never  could  grow 

strong : 
32 


And  would'st  thou  do  one  duty  to  his 
mind. 

The  Imposer's — overburdened  thou  shalt 
ask, 

And  own  thy  need  of  grace  to  help,  ere- 
long. 


THE  MARINEE'S  DEEAM. 

In  slumbers  of  midnight  the  sailor  boy  lay. 
His  hammock  swung  loose  at  the  sport  of  the 
wind; 
But,  watchworn  and  weary,  his  cares  flew  away, 
And  visions  of  happiness  danced  o'er  his 
mind. 

lie  dreamed  of  his  home,  of  his  dear  native 
bowers. 
And  pleasures  that  waited  on  life's  early 
morn; 
While  memory  each  scene  gaily  covered  with 
flowers, 
And  restored  every  rose  and  secreted  its  thorn. 

Then  fancy  her  magical  pinions  spread  wide, 
And  bade  the  young  dreamer  to  ecstasy  rise; 

Now,  far,  far  behind  him  the  green  waters  glide, 
And  the  cot  of  his  forefathers  blesses  his  eyes. 

The  jessamine  clambers  in  flowers  o'er  the  thatch, 
And  the  swallow  chirps  sweet  from  her  nest  in 
the  wall; 

All  trembling  with  transport,  he  raises  the  latch. 
And  the  voices  of  loved  ones  reply  to  bis  call. 

A  father  bends  o'er  him  with  looks  oC  delight; 
His  cheek  is   impcarled  with  a  mother's  warm 
tear. 
And  the  lips  of  the  boy  in  a  love-kiss,  unite 
With  the  lips  of  the  maid  whom   his  bosom 
holds  dear. 

The  heart  of  the  sleeper  heats  high  in  his  breast, 

Joy  quickens  his  pulse,  his  hardnhips  seem  o'er; 

And  a  murmur  of  happiness   steals  through  his 

rest  — 

"0,   God!  thou   hast  blest  me;    I  ask   for   no 

more." 

Ah!  whence  is  that  flame  which  now  bursts  on 
his  eye? 
Ah!  what  is  that  sound  which  now  alarms  hia 
ear? 


70 


SUNDAY    BOOK    OF 


'T  is  the  ligiitning's  red  glare,  painting  hell  on 
the  skyl 
'T  is  the  crashing  of  thunders,  the  groan  of  tho 
sphere. 
He   springs   from   his    hammock — he  flies  to  the 
deck — 
Amazement  confronts  him  with  images  dire; 
Wild  winds  and  mad   wares  drive  the  vessel  a 
wreck — 
The  masts    fly  in  splinters — the   shrouds   are 
ou  fire! 

Like  mountains  the  billows  tremendously  swell; 

In  vain  the  lost  wretcli  calls  on  mercy  to  save; 
Unseen  hands  of  spirits  are  ringing  his  knell, 

And  the  death-angel  flaps  his  broad  wing  o'er 
the  wave. 

O,  sailor  boy!  woe  to  thy  dream  of  delight! 
In   darkness  dissolves  the  gay  frost-work  of 
bliss; 
Where  now  is   the  picture  where  fancy  touched 
bright, 
Thy  parents'  fond  pressure,  and  love's  honeyed 
kiss? 

0,  sailor  boy!  sailor  boy!  never  again 

Shall  home,  love,  or  kindred,  thy  wishes  repay; 
Unblessed    and    unhonored,    down  deep  in   the 
main 
Full  many  a  score  fathom,   thy  frame  shall 
decay. 

No  tomb  shall  e'er  plead  remembrance  for  thee. 
Or   redeem  form  or  fame  from   the    merciless 
surge; 
But  the  white  foam  of  waves  shall  thy  winding- 
sheet  be. 
And    winds,    in    the   midnight  of    winter,    thy 
dirge ! 

On  a  bed  of  green    sea-flower  thy  limbs  shall  Jse 
laid; 
Around  tliy  white  bones  the  red  coral  shall  grow ; 
Of   thy   fair   yellow   locks    threads  of   amber  be 
made, 
And  every  part  suit  to  thy  mansion  below. 

Days,  months,  years,  and  ages  shall  circle  away, 
And  still  the  vast  waters  above  thee  s-hall  roll; 

Earth  loses  thy  pattern  forever  and  aye: 
0,  sailor  boy!  sailor  boy!  peace  to  thy  soul! 


THE  THEZE  WARNINGS. 


JIKS.    THRALK. 


The  tree  of  deepest  root  is  found 
Least  willing  still  to  quit  the  ground; 


'T  was,  therefore,  said,  by  ancient  sages, 
Tiiat  love  of  life  increa.sod  with  j-eursj 
So  much,  that,  in  our  latter  stages, 
When  pains  grow  sharp,  and  sickness 
rages, 
Tho  greatest  lovo  of  life  appears. 
This  great  affection  to  believe. 
Which  ail  confess,  but  few  perceive, 
If  old  assertions  cant  prevail, 
Be  jileased  to  hear  a  modern  tale. 

When  sports  wcntround,  and  all  were  gay 
On  neighbor  Dobson's  wedding-day, 
Death  called  aside  tho  jocund  groom, 
With  him  into  another  room; 
And,  looking  grave,  "You  must,"  sa3's 

he, 
"Quit  your  sweet  briae  and  come  with 

me." 
"With  you  !  and  quit  my  Susan's  side! 
With  you !"  the  hapless  husband  cried  ; 
"Young  as  1  am?  'tis  monstrous  hard! 
Besides,  in  truth,  I  'm  not  prepared; 
My  thoughts  on  other  matters  go. 
This  is  my  wedding-night,  you  know." 
What  more,  he  urged,  1  have  not  hoard. 

His  reasons  could  not  well  bestrongcr ; 
So  death  the  poor  delinquent  spared, 

And  left  to  live  a  little  longer. 
Yet,  calling  up  a  serious  look, 
Jlis  hour-glass  trembled  while  he  spoke, 
"Xoighbor,"  said  ho,  farewell!  no  niorc 
Shall  Death  disturb  your  mirthful  hour; 
And,  further,  to  avoid  all  blame 
Of  cruelty  upon  my  name. 
To  give  you  time  for  preparation. 
And  fit  3'ou  for  your  future  station, 
Three  several  warnings  you  shall  have, 
Before  you  're  summoned  to  the  grave. 
Willing,  for  once,  I'll  quit  my  prey, 

And  grant  a  kind  reprieve. 
In  hopes  you  '11  have  no  more  to  say, 
But,  when  I  call  again  this  way, 

Well  pleased,  the  world  will  leave." 
To  these  conditions  both  consented, 
And  parted,  perfectly  contented. 

What  next  tho  hero  of  our  tale  befell, 
How   long   he   lived,  how  wisely — atid 
how  well 


PLEASING    AND    COMFOETING    LITEllATUEE.         71 


It  jDleased  him,  in  his  prosperous  course, 
To  smoke  his  pipe  and  pat  his  horse, 
The  willing  muse  shall  tell: 
He  chaffcx'ed  then,  he  bought,  he  sold, 
Nor  once  perceived  the  growing  old, 

Nor  thought  of  Death  as  near; 
His  friends  not  false,  his  wife  no  shrew, 
Many  his  gains,  his  children  few, 
He  passed  his  hours  in  peace. 
But,  while  he  viewed  his  wealth  increase, 
While  thus  along  life's  dusty  road 
The  beaten  track  content  he  trod. 
Old  Time,  whose  haste  no  mortal  spares, 
Uncalled,  unheeded,  unawares, 

Brought  on  his  eightieth  year. 

And,  now,  one  night,  in  musing  mood, 
As  all  alone  he  sate, 
The  unwelcome  messenger  of  fate 

Once  more  before  him  stood. 
Half  killed  with  anger  and  surprise, 
"So  soon  returned!"  old  Dobson  cries; 
"So  soon,  d'ye  call  it?"  Death  replies; 

"  Surely,  my  friend,  you  're  but  in  jest ; 
Since  I  was  here  before, 

"'Tis  six  and  thirty  3'ears,  at  least. 
And  you  are  now  forescore." 
"So  much  the  worse!"   tlie  clown   re- 
joined, 
"To  spare  the  aged  would  be  kind; 
Besides,  3'ou  promised  me  tliree  warn- 
ings. 
Which  I  have    looked  for  nights   and 

mornings." 
"I  know,"   cries   Death,    "that  at  the 

best, 
I  seldom  am  a  welcome  guest; 
But  don't  be  ca])tious,  iViend,  at  least, 
I  little  thought  you  'd  still  be  able 
To  stump  about  your  farm  and  stable; 
Your  3'ears  have  run  to  a  great  length; 
I  wish   you  joy,  though,  of  your 

strength," — 
"Hold!"  says  the  farmer,  not  so  fast: 
I  have  been  lame  these  four  years  past." 
"And  no  great  wonder,"  Death  replies. 
However,  you  still  keep  j^our  eyes; 
And  sure,  to  see  one's  loves  and  friends, 
For  legs  and  arms  would  make  amends." 
"Perhaps,"  says  Dobson,  "so  it  might; 


But  latterly  I  Vc  lost  ray  sight." 
"This  is  a  shocking  story,  faith; 
Yet   there  's  some  comfort,   still,"  says 

Death : 
"Each   strives  your  sadness  to  amuse; 
I  warrant  3'ou  hear  all  the  news." 
"There's  none,"  cried  he,  "and  if  there 

were, 
I  'm  grown  so  deaf  I  could  not  hear." 
"  Nay,  then,"  the  specter  stern  rejoined, 
"These  ai*e  unreasonable  j-earnings; 
If  you  are  lame^  and  deaf^  and  blind, 
You  'vc   had  your  three   sufficient 

warnings; 
So  come  along!  No  more  we'll  part," 
He  said,  and  touched  him  with  his  dart; 
And  now  old  Dobson,  turning  pale, 
Yields  to  his  fate — so  ends  my  tale. 


THE  PEESENT  LIFE  PREPARATORY  TO  THE 
HAPPINESS  OF  ETERNITY. 

JOSEPH   ADDISON. 

A  LFVVD  young  fellow  seeing  an  aged 
hermit  go  by  him  barefoot,   "Father," 
said  he,  "you  are  in  a  very  miserable 
condition  if  there  is  not  another  world." 
"True,    son,"    said    the    hermit,    "but 
what    is    thy   condition    if    there    is?" 
Man   is   a   creature    designed    for   two 
different  states  of  being,  or  rather  for 
two    different    lives.     His    first   life    is 
short   and   transient;    his   second,   per- 
manent and  lasting.     The  question  wo 
arc  all  concerned  in  is  this:  in  which 
of  these  two  lives  it  is  our  chief  interest 
to  make  ourselves  happy.     Or,  in  other 
words,  whether  we  should  endeavor  to 
secure   to   ourselves   the  pleasures  and 
gratifications  of  a  life  which  is  uncertain 
and  precarious,  and.  at  its  utmost  length, 
of  a  very  inconsiderable  duration;   or 
to  .secure  to  ourselves  the  jileasures  of  a 
life  which  is  fixed  and  settled,  and  will 
never  end.     Every  man,  upon  the  first 
hearing    of  this  question,   knows  very 
well  which  side  of  it  he  ought  to  close 
with.     But,    however  right  we    are    in 
theory,  it  is  plain  that  in  practice  we 
adhere  to  the  wrong  side  of  the  qucs- 


73 


SUNDAY   BOOK    OF 


tion.  We  make  provisions  for  this  life 
as  thiough  it  were  never  to  liave  an 
end,  and  for  the  other  life  as  though 
it  were  to  never  have  a  beginning. 

Should  a  spirit  of  superior  rank,  who 
is  a  stranger  to  human  nature,  acci- 
dentally alight  upon  the  earth,  and 
take  a  survey  of  its  inhabitants,  what 
would  his  notions  of  us  be?  Would 
he  not  think  that  we  were  a  species  of 
beings  made  for  different  ends  and  pur- 
poses than  what  wo  really  are?  Must 
not  he  imagine  that  we  were  placed  in 
this  world  to  get  riches  and  honors? 
Would  not  he  think  that  it  was  our 
duty  to  toil  after  wealth,  and  station,  and 
title?  Nay,  would  not  he  believe  we  were 
forbidden  poverty  by  threats  of  eter- 
nal punishment,  and  enjoined  to  pursue 
our  pleasures  under  pain  of  damnation? 
He  would  certainly  imagine  that  we 
wore  influenced  by  a  scheme  of  dutios 
quite  opposite  to  those  which  are,  in- 
deed, prescribed  to  us.  And,  truly,  ac- 
cording to  such  imagination,  he  must 
conclude  that  we  arc  a  species  of  the 
most  obedient  creatures  in  the  universe; 
that  we  are  constant  to  our  duty;  and 
that  we  keep  a  steady  eye  on  the  end 
for  which  we  were  sent  hither. 

But  how  great  would  be  his  astonish- 
ment when  he  learned  that  we  were  be- 
ings not  designed  to  exist  in  this  world 
above  three-score  and  ten  years,  and 
that  the  greatest  part  of  this  busy  spe- 
cies fall  short  even  of  that  age!  How 
would  he  be  lost  in  horror  and  admira- 
tion when  he  should  know  that  this  set 
of  creatures,  who  lay  out  all  their  en- 
deavors for  this  life,  which  scarce  de- 
serves the  name  of  existence — when,  I 
eay,  he  should  know  that  this  set  of 
creatures  are  to  exist  to  all  eternity  in 
another  life,  for  which  they  make  no 
preparations!  Nothing  can  be  a  greater 
disgrace  to  reason,  than  that  men,  who 
are  persuaded  of  these  two  different 
stages  of  being,  should  bo  perpetually 
employed  in  providing  for  a  life  of  three- 
score and  ten  years,  and  neglecting  to 


make  provision  for  that  which,  after 
many  myriads  of  years,  will  be  still  new 
and  still  beginning;  especially  when  we 
consider  that  our  endeavors  for  making 
ourselves  great^  or  rich,  or  honorable, 
or  whatever  else  we  place  our  happiness 
in,  may,  after  all,  prove  unsuccessful ; 
whereas,  if  we  constantly  and  sincerely 
endeavor  to  make  ourselves  happy  in 
the  other  life,  we  are  sure  that  our  en- 
deavors will  succeed,  and  that  we  shall 
not  be  disappointed  of  our  hope. 

The  following  question  is  started  by 
one  of  our  schoolmen:  Supposing  the 
whole  body  of  the  earth  were  a  great 
ball  or  mass  of  the  finest  sand,  and  that 
a  single  grain  or  a  particle  of  this  sand 
should  be  annihilated  every  thousand 
years;  supposing,  then,  that  you  had  rt 
in  your  choice  to  be  happy  all  the  while 
this  prodigious  mass  of  sand  was  con- 
suming by  this  slow  method,  until  there 
was  not  a  grain  of  it  left,  on  condition 
3'ou  were  to  be  miserable  forever  after  ; 
or,  supposing  that  you  might  be  happy 
forever  after  on  condition  that  you 
would  be  miserable  until  the  whole  mass 
of  sand  were  annihilated,  at  the  rate  of 
one  sand  in  a  thousand  years:  which 
of  these  two  cases  would  you  make 
your  choice? 

It  must  be  confessed  that,  in  this  case, 
so  many  thousand  years  are  to  the  im- 
agination as  a  kind  of  eternity,  though, 
in  reality,  they  do  not  bear  so  great  a 
proportion  to  that  duration  which  is  to 
follow  them  as  a  unit  does  to  the  great- 
est number  Avliich  j'ou  can  jiut  together  in 
figures,  or  as  one  of  those  sands  to  the 
supposed  heap.  Tleason,  therefore,  tells 
us,  Avithout  any  manner  of  hesitation, 
which  would  be  the  better  part  in  this 
choice.  However,  as  I  have  before  in- 
timated, our  reason  might,  in  such  case, 
be  so  overset  by  the  imagination  as  to 
dispose  some  persons  to  sink  under  the 
consideration  of  the  greit  length  of  the 
first  part  of  this  duration,  and  of  the 
great  distance  of  that  second  duration 
which  is  to  succeed  it.     The  mind,  I  say, 


PLEASIXG    AND    COMFOETING    LITEKATUEE, 


73 


tnifijbt  give  itself  up  to  that  happiness 
which  is  at  hand,  considering  that  it  is 
so  very  near  and  that  it  would  last  so 
very  long.  But  when  the  choice  we  ac- 
tually have  before  us  is  this,  whether 
we  will  choose  to  be  happy  for  the  space 
ofonly  three-score  and  ten — nay.  perhaps 
of  only  twenty  or  ten  yeai's,  I  might  say 
of  only  a  day  or  an  hour,  and  miserable 
to  all  eternity;  or,  on  the  contrary,  mis- 
erable for  this  short  term  of  years,  and 
happy  for  a  whole  eternity — what  words 
are  sufficient  to  express  that  folly  and 
want  of  consideration  which,  in  such  a 
case,  makes  a  wrong  choice? 

I  liere  put  the  case  even  at  the  worst, 
by  supposing,  what  seldom  happens, 
that  a  course  of  virtue  makes  us  mis- 
erable in  this  life;  but  if  wo  suppose,  as 
it  generally  happens,  that  virtue  would 
make  us  more  happy  even  in  this  life 
than  a  contrarj'  course  of  vice,  how  can 
we  sufficiently  admire  the  stupidity  or 
madness  of  those  persons  Avho  are  ca- 
pable of  making  so  absurd  a  choice? 

Every  wise  man,  therefore,  will  con- 
sider this  life  only  as  it  may  conduce  to 
the  happiness  of  the  other,  and  cheer- 
fully sacrifice  the  pleasures  of  a  few 
years  to  those  of  an  eternity. 


VAGUE  HOPES  OF  NATURE. 

POPE. 

Hope  sprinpjs  eternftl  in  the  humnn  breast: 
Man  never  is,  but  always  to  be  blest. 
The  soul,  uneasy,  and  confined  from  home. 
Rests  and  expatiates  in  a  world  to  come. 
Lo,  the  poor  Indian!    whose  untutored  mind 
Sees  God  in  clouds,  or  hears  Him  in  the  wind; 
His  soul  proud  Science  never  taught  to  stray 
Far  as  the  solar  walk,  or  milky  vray  ; 
Yet  simple  nature  lo  his  hope  lias  given, 
Behind  the  cloud-topped  hill,  an  humbler  heaven; 
Some  safer  world  in  depth  of  woods  embraced, 
Some  happier  island  in  the  watery  waste, 
Where  slaves  once  more   their  native  land  be- 
hold, 
No  fiends  torment,  no  Christians  thirst  for  gold. 
To  be,  contents  his  natural  desire, — 
Ho  asks  no  angel's  wings,  no  seraph's  fire; 
But  thinks,  admitted  to  that  equal  sky, 
Hia  faithful  dog  shall  bear  him  company. 


THE  BEACON. 
[ThomoB  Moore;  born  in  Dublin  in  1794;  UieJ  in  .S.'i'Z.] 

The  scene  was  more  beautiful  far  to  my  eye, 

Than  if  day  in  its  priile  had  arrayed  it. 
The  land  breeze  blew  mild,  and  the  azure-arched 

sky 
Looked  pure  as  the  spirit  that  made  it. 

The  murmur  rose  soft  as  I  silently  gazed 
On  the  shadowj'  Waves'  playful  motion. 
From  the  dim  distant  isle  till  the  beacon-fire 

blazed 
Like  a  star  in  the  midst  of  the  ocean. 

No  longer  the  joy  of  the  sailor-boy's  breast 
Was  heard  in  his  wildly-breathed  numbers; 

The  sea-bird  had  flown  to  her  wave-girdled  nest, 
The  fisherman  sunk  to  his  slumbers. 

I  sighed  as  I  looked  from  the  hill's  gentle  slope; 

All  hushed  was  the  billow's  commotion; 
And  I  thought  that  the  beacon  looked  lovely  as 
Hope, 

That  star  of  life's  tremulous  ocean. 

The  time  is  long  past,  and  the  scene  is  afar, 
Yet,  when  my  head  rests  on  its  pillow. 

Will  memory  sometimes  rekindle  the  star, 
That  blazed  on  the  breast  of  the  billow. 

In  life's  closing  hour,  when  the  trembling  soul 
flies. 

And  death  stills  the  heart's  last  emotion, 
0  then  may  the  seraph  of  mercy  arise 

Like  a  star  on  eternity's  ocean. 


THE  CREATION. 


c,  r.  ALr..\ANnF.B, 


All  things  bright  and  beautiful, 
All  creatures,  great  and  small, 

All  things  wise  and  wonderful, 
Tho  Lord  God  made  them  all. 

Each  little  flower  that  opens, 
Each  little  bird  that  sing.s, 

He  made  their  glowing  colors, 
lie  made  their  tiny  wings; 

The  rich  man  in  his  castle, 
The  poor  man  at  his  gate, 

God  made  them,  iiigh  or  lowly, 
And  ordered  their  estate. 


T4 


SUNDAY    BOOK    OF 


The  purple-headed  mountain, 

The  river  running  by, 
The  sunset,  and  the  morning 

That  brightens  up  the  sky; 

The  cold  wind  in  the  winter, 
The  pleasant  summer  sun, 

The  ripe  fruits  in  the  garden, — 
He  made  them  every  one. 

The  tall  trees  in  the  greenwood, 
The  meadows  where  wo  play, 

The  rushes  by  the  water 
We  gather  every  day ; — 

He  gave  us  eyes  to  see  them, 
And  lips  that  we  might  tell 

How  great  is  God  Almighty 
Who  has  made  all  thin<r8  well! 


JOY  IN  BELIEVINa. 

[The  religions  novel  in  our  day  Is  growing  mora  and  more 
a  powfli"  to  cnlorce  tnitli.  The  coniinoii  niiud  ottc-n  tiiids  it 
(lifticult  to  coniprehenil  ab-itract  principles.  Cliiiit  liiiiiself 
tii-t  tliu  exampli',  by  parables,  of  illustrating  truth  tliious;!] 
pprsinial  action.  Uninan  sympathies,  to  be  aroused,  must  be 
<'xcited  by  events  iu  the  drama  of  life.  No  bouk  of  this 
flaxn  has  been  more  adiuired,  or  productive  of  UKiro  happy 
results,  than  the  "  t'hronicles  of  the  SchouberK-( Utta  Fam 
ily."  I'het'otbii  family  were  among  ilarlin  Luther's  ear- 
liest fri<>nd3— were  associated  with  him  while  hewasa*  ath- 
olic  pri'ist.  In  the  form  of  a  diary,  fictitiuus,  of  course, 
the  .■ullioress,  an  Knglish  laily,  makes  the  members  of  this 
family  record  their  daily  experience  as  ccmnected  with  the 
history  of  the  Upfortiialion;  and  that,  too,  witli  wondrous 
Hkill.  The  opening  ch.AptfV  of  this  Sunday  Book  is  by  the  same 
writer.  The  extract  here  given  islroni  the  Chronicles  of 
I'.lse,  an  innoreut-hearted  maiden,  who  t  last  hassncceedecl 
in  disentangling  herself  troni  tho  more  gloomy  vii'ws  of  the 
<'athoIic  faith.  The  .:oy  oT  an  artless  soul  in  discovering 
what  a  simple  thing  (Jhristianitv  in  reality  is,  and  its  out- 
pouring gratitude,  are  drawn  with  surpassing  beauty,  teu- 
Ueruess,  and  power.] 

Makch,  1513. 
Dr.  Luthkr  has  consented  to  be  our 
confessor;  and,  thank  God,  I  do  believe 
at  last  I  have  found  the  religion  which 
ntay  make  mo,  even  me,  love  God.  Dr. 
Luther  Bays  1  have  entirely  misunder- 
stood God  and  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ. 
He  seemed  to  understand  all  I  have  been 
longing  for  and  perplexing  myself  about 
all  my  lite,  with  a  glance.  When  I  began 
to  falter  out  my  confessions  and  difficul- 
ties to  him,  he  seemed  to  see  them  all 
spread  before  him,  and  explained  them 
all  to  me.     He  says  1  have  been  think- 


ing of  God  as  a  severe  judge,  an  exactor, 
a  harsh  creditor,  when  he  is  a  giver,  a 
forgiving  savior,  yea,  the  very  fountain 
of  inexpressible  love. 

"God's  love,"  he  said,  "gives  in  such 
a  way  that  it  flows  from  a  Father's 
heart,  the  Avell-spring  of  all  good.  The 
heart  of  the  giver  makes  the  gift  dear 
and  precious ;  as  among  ourselves  we 
say  of  even  a  trifling  gift,  '  It  comes  from 
a  hand  we  love,'  and  look  not  so  much 
at  the  gift  as  at  the  heart. 

"If  we  will  only  consider  him  in  his 
works,  we  shall  learn  that  God  is  noth- 
ing else  but  pure,  unutterable  love, 
greater  and  more  than  any  one  can 
think.  The  shameful  thing  is  that  the 
world  does  not  regard  this,  nor  thank 
him  for  it,  although  every  day  it  sees 
before  it  such  countless  benefits  from 
him;  and  it  deserves  for  its  ingratitude 
that  the  sun  should  not  shine  a  moment 
longer,  nor  the  grass  grow;  yet  it  ceases 
not,  without  a  moment's  interval,  to  love 
us,  and  to  do  us  good.  Language  must 
fail  me  to  speak  of  his  spiritual  gifts. 
Here  he  pours  forth  for  us,  not  sun  and 
moon,  nor  heaven  and  earth,  but  his  OAvn 
heart,  his  beloved  Son,  so  that  he  suf- 
fered his  blood  to  be  shod,  and  the  most 
shameful  death  to  be  inflicted  on  him, 
for  his  wretched,  wicked,  thankless  crea- 
tures. How,  then,  can  we  say  any  thing 
but  that  God  is  an  abyss  of  endless,  un- 
fathomable love? 

"The  whole  Bible,"  he  says,  "is  full 
of  this,  that  we  should  not  doubt,  but 
be  absolutely  certain,  that  God  is  mer- 
ciful,gracious,  patient,  faithful,  and  true ; 
who  not  only  will  keep  his  promises,  but 
already  has  kept  and  done  abundantly 
beyond  what  he  promised,  since  he  has 
given  his  own  Son  for  our  sins  on  the 
cross,  that  all  who  believe  in  him  should 
not  perish,  but  have  everlasting  life. 

"Whoever  believes  and  embraces  this," 
he  added,  "that  God  has  given  his  only 
Son  to  die  for  us  poor  sinners,  to  him  it 
is  no  longer  any  doubt,  but  the  most- 
certain  truth,  that  God  reconciles  us  to 


PLEASING   AND    COMFORTING    LITERATURE. 


75 


himself,  and  is  favorable  and   heartily 
gracious  to  us. 

"Since  the  Gospel  shows  us  Christ 
the  Son  of  God,  Avho,  according  to  the 
vrill  of  the  Father,  has  offered  himself 
up  for  us,  and  has  satisfied  for  sin,  the 
Jieart  can  no  more  doubt  Gods  goodness 
•and  grace — is  no  more  affrighted,  nor 
flies  from  God,  but  sets  all  its  hope  in 
his  goodness  and  mercy. 

"The  apostles  arc  always  exhorting 
us,"  he  says,  "to  continue  in  the  love  of 
God  ;  that  is,  that  each  one  should  en- 
tirely conclude  in  his  heart  that  he  is 
loved  by  God,  and  set  before  our  eyes 
a  certain  proof  of  it,  in  that  God  has  not 
spared  his  Son,  but  given  him  for  the 
world,  that  through  his  death  the  world 
might  again  have  life. 

."It  is  God's  honor  and  glory  to  give 
liberally.  His  nature  is  all  pure  love; 
80  that  if  any  one  would  describe  or  pic- 
ture God,  ho  must  describe  one  who  is 
pure  love,  the  divine  nature  being  noth- 
ing else  than  a  furnace  and  a  glow  of 
such  love  that  it  fills  heaven  and  earth. 

"Love  is  an  image  of  God,  and  not  a 
dead  image,  nor  one  painted  on  paper, 
but  the  living  essence  of  the  divine  na- 
ture, which  burns  full  of  all  goodness. 

"He  is  not  harsh,  as  we  are  to  those 
who  have  injured  us.  Wo  withdraw 
our  hand  and  close  our  purse;  but  he  is 
kind  to  the  unthankful  and  the  evil. 

"He  sees  thee  in  thy  poverty  and 
wretchedness,  and  knows  thou  hast 
nothing  to  pay.  Therefore,  he  freely 
forgives,  and  gives  thee  all. 

"It  is  not  to  be  borne,"  he  said,  "that 
Christian  people  should  say,  We  can  not 
know  whctlier  God  is  favorable  to  us  or 
not.  On  the  contrary,  we  should  learn 
to  say,  I  know  that  I  believe  in  Christ, 
and,  therefore,  that  God  is  my  gracious 
Father." 

"What  is  the  reason  that  God  gives?" 
ho  said  one  day.  "What  moves  him  to 
it?  Nothing  but  unutterable  love,  be- 
cause he  deliglits  to  give  and  bless. 
What  does  he  give?    Not  empires  mere- 


ly, not  a  world  full  of  silver  and  gold, 
not  heaven  and  earth  only,  but  his  Son, 
who  is  as  great  as  himself,  that  is  eter- 
nal and  incomprehensible — a  gill  as  in- 
finite as  the  Giver,  the  very  spring  and 
fountain  of  all  grace ;  yea,  the  possession 
and  pro]>erty  of  all  the  riches  and  treas- 
ures of  God." 

Dr.  Luther  said,  also,  that  the  best 
name  wo  can  think  of  God  is  Father. 
"It  is  a  loving,  sweet,  deej),  heart-touch- 
ing name;  for  the  name  of  father  is.  in 
its  nature,  full  of  inborn  sweetness  and 
comfort.  Therefore,  also,  we  must  con- 
fess ourselves  children  of  God,  since 
there  is  not  a  sweeter  sound  to  the  father 
than  the  voice  of  the  child." 

All  this  is  wonderful  to  me.  I  scarcely 
dare  to  open  my  hand,  and  take  this  be- 
lief home  to  my  heart. 

It  is  then,  indeed,  thus  we  must  think 
of  God.  Is  he,  indeed,  as  Dr.  Luther 
says,  ready  to  listen  to  our  feeblest  cry, 
ready  to  forgive  us  and  to  help  us ! 

And  if  he  is  indeed  like  this,  and 
cares  what  we  think  of  him,  how  1  must 
have  grieved  him  all  these  years? 

Not  a  moment  longer,  I  will  not  dis- 
trust him  a  moment  longer.  See,  heav- 
enly Father,  I  have  come  back! 

Can  it  indeed  bo  possible  that  God  is 
pleased  when  we  trust  him,  pleased 
when  we  pray,  simply  because  he  loves 
us? 

Can  it  indeed  be  true,  as  Dr.  Luther 
says,  that  love  is  our  greatest  virtue; 
and  that  we  please  God  best  by  being 
kind  tc  each  other,  just  because  that  is 
most  like  him  ? 

I  am  sure  it  is  true.  It  is  so  good  it 
must  be  true. 

,Tlien  it  is  possible  for  me,  even  for 
me,  to  love  God.  How  is  it  possible  for 
me  not  to  love  him?  And  it  is  jiossiblo 
for  me,  even  for  me,  to  be  religious,  if 
to  be  religious  is  to  love  God,  and  to  do 
whatever  we  can  to  make  those  around 
us  happy. 

But  if  this  is  indeed  religion,  it  is 
happiness,  it  is  freedom,  it  is  life  1 


76 


SUNDAY    BOOK    OF 


Why,  then,  are  bo  many  of  the  re- 
ligious people  1  know  of  a  sad  counte- 
nance, as  if  they  were  bond-servants, 
toiling  for  a  hard  master? 

I  must  ask  Dr.  Luther. 

April,  1513. 

I  have  asked  Dr.  Luther,  and  he  says 
because  it  is  the  devil  makes  a  great  deal 
of  the  religion  we  see;  that  he  jiretends 
to  bo  Christ,  and  comes  and  terrifies 
people,  and  scourges  them  with  the  re- 
membrance of  their  sins,  and  tells  them 
they  must  not  dare  to  lift  up  their  eyes 
to  heaven;  God  is  so  holy,  and  they  are 
so  sinful.  But  it  is  all  because  he  knows 
that  if  they  would  lift  their  eyes  to 
heaven,  their  terrors  would  vanish,  and 
they  would  see  Christ  there,  not  as  the 
judge  and  the  hard,  exacting  creditor, 
but  as  the  pitiful,  loving  Savior." 

I  find  it  a  great  comfort  to  believe  in 
this  way  in  tlie  devil.  Has  he  not  been 
trying  to  teach  me  his  religion  all  my 
life?  And  now  I  have  found  him  out. 
He  has  been  telling  me  lies,  not  about 
myself  (Dr.  Luther  says  he  can  not  paint 
as  more  sinful  than  we  are),  but  lies 
about  Grod.  It  helps  me  almost  as  much 
to  hear  Dr.  Luther  speak  about  the 
devil  as  about  G-od — "the  malignant, 
sad  spirit,"  he  says,  "  who  loves  to  make 
every  one  sad." 

With  God's  help,  I  will  never  believe 
him  again.  But  Dr.  Luther  said  I  shall, 
often;  that  he  will  come  again  and  ma- 
lign God,  and  assail  my  peace  in  so 
T..any  ways  that  it  will  be  long  before  I 
learn  to  know  him. 

I  shuddered  when  he  told  me  this; 
hut  then  he  reassured  me  by  telling  me 
a  beautiful  story,  which,  he  said,  was 
from  the  Bible.  It  was  about  a  Good 
Shepherd  and  silly  wandering  sheep, 
and  a  wolf  who  sought  to  devour  them. 
"All  the  care  of  the  shepherd,"  he  said, 
"is  in  the  tenderest  way  to  attract  the 
sheep  to  keep  close  to  him;  and  when 
tliey  wander,  he  goes  and  seeks  them, 
takes  them  on  his  shoulder,  and  carries 


them  safe  home.  All  our  wisdom,"  ho 
says,  "is  to  keep  always  near  this  Goo<l 
Shepherd,  who  is  Christ,  and  to  listen 
to  his  voice." 

I  know  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ  is  called 
the  Good  Shepherd.  I  have  seen  the 
picture  of  him  carrying  the  lamb  on  his 
shoulder.  But,  until  Dr.  Luther  ex- 
plained it  to  me,  I  thought  it  meant  that 
he  was  the  Lord  and  owner  of  all  the 
world,  who  are  his  flock.  But  I  never 
thought  that  ho  cared  for  me  as  his 
sheep,  sought  me,  called  me,  watched 
me,  even  me,  day  by  day. 

Other  people,  no  doubt,  have  under- 
stood all  this  before.  And  yet,  if  so, 
why  do  not  the  monks  preach  of  it  ? 
Why  should  Aunt  Agnes  serve  him  in 
the  convent  by  penances  and  self-tor- 
mentings,  instead  of  serving  him  in  the 
world  by  being  kind  and  helping  all 
around?  Why  should  our  dear,  gentle 
mother  have  such  sad,  self-reproachful 
thoughts,  and  feel  as  if  our  family  were 
under  a  curse? 

Dr.  Luther  said  that  Christ  was  "made 
a  curse  for  us;"  that  he,  the  unspotted 
and  undefiled  Lamb  of  God,  bore  tho 
curse  for  us  on  the  cross;  and  that  we, 
believing  in  him,  are  not  under  the  curse, 
but  under  the  blessing — that  we  are 
blessed. 

This,  then,  is  what  tho  crucifix  and 
the  Agnus  Dei  means.  Doubtless  many 
around  me  have  understood  all  this  long 
ago.  I  am  sure,  at  least,  that  our  Eva 
understood  it. 

But  what  inexpressible  joy  for  me,  as 
I  sit  at  my  embroidery  in  the  garden,  to 
look  up  through  the  apple-blossoms  and 
the  fluttering  leaves,  and  to  see  God's 
love  there  ;  to  listen  to  the  thrush  that 
has  built  his  nest  among  them,  and  feel 
God's  love,  who  cares  for  the  birds,  in 
every  note  that  swells  his  little  throat; 
to  look  beyond  to  the  bright  blue  depths 
of  the  sky,  and  feel  they  are  a  canopy 
of  blessing,  the  roof  of  the  house  of  my 
Father;  that  if  clouds  pass  over,  it  is 
tho  unchangeable  light  they  veil;  that, 


PLEASING   AND    COMFOKTING    LITERATURE 


77 


even  when  the  da}^  itself  passes,  I  shall 
see  that  the  night  itself  only  unveils 
new  worlds  of  light;  and  to  know  that 
if  I  could  unwrap  fold  after  fold  of 
God's  universe,  I  should  only  unfold 
more  and  more  blessing,  and  see  deeper 
and  deeper  into  the  love  which  is  at  the 
heart  of  all ! 

And  then  what  joy  again  to  turn  to 
my  embroidery,  and,  as  my  fingers 
bu!?ily  ply  the  needle,  to  think, 

This  is  to  help  my  father  and  mother; 
this,  even  this,  is  a  little  work  of  love. 
And  as  I  sit  and  stitch,  God  is  pleased 
with  me,  and  with  what  I  am  doing. 
He  gives  mo  this  to  do,  as  much  as  ho 
gives  the  priests  to  pray  and  Dr.  Luther 
to  preach.  I  am  serving  him,  and  he 
is  near  me  in  m}""  little  corner  of  the 
world,  and  is  pleased  with  me,  even  with 
me! 

Oh,  the  change  which  has  come  over 
my  heart,  now  that  I  have  learned, 
through  Dr.  Luther's  teaching,  that 
God  is  love — is  our  Father ;  that  Christ 
is  the  Savior,  who  gave  himself  for  our 
sins,  and  loved  us  better  than  life;  that 
heaven  is  our  Father's  house  ;  that  holi- 
ness is  simply  loving  God,  who  is  so  good, 
and  who  has  so  loved  us,  and  loving  one 
another,  that  the  service  we  have  to 
render  is  simply  to  give  thanks  and  to 
do  good;  when,  as  Dr.  Luther  said,  that 
word  "our"  was  written  deeply  in  my 
heart — that  for  oxir  sins  ho  died,  for 
mine;  that  for  all,  for  us,  for  me,  he 
gave  himself  up. 


THE  LOWLY  HEART. 


priilK  mnch-admirpil  poTn  ia  1)t  Miss  Ann  Lptltia  Wsrins, 
anil  Krigli.-th  Udy  iiC  <Mir  time,  "an  KvaiiKclicHi  yiiiil;i"iv.s^. 
who  \\A^  l'-»riic(l  her  Bwc«t,  aiiliniiMiro  striiiii  in  Ihc  school 
of  sutleriDg.'  J 

Father,  I  know  that  all  my  life 

Is  portioned  out  for  me. 
And  the  changes  that  are  sure  to  come, 

I  do  not  fear  to  bcc  ; 
But  I  ask  thee  for  a  present  mind, 

Intent  on  pleasing  thee. 


I  ask  thee  for  a  thoughtful  love, 
Through  constant  watching  wise, 

To  meet  the  glad  with  joyful  smiles, 
And  wipe  the  weeping  eyes; 

And  a  heart  at  leisure  from  itself, 
To  soothe  and  sympathize. 

I  would  not  have  the  restless  will 

That  hurries  to  and  fro, 
Seeking  for  some  great  thing  to  do, 

Or  secret  thing  to  know; 
I  would  be  treated  as  a  child, 

And  guided  where  I  go. 

Wherever  in  the  world  I  am, 

In  whatsoe'er  estate, 
I  have  a  fellowship  with  hearts 

To  keep  and  cultivate; 
And  a  work  of  lowly  love  to  do. 

For  the  Lord  on  whom  I  wait. 

So  I  ask  thee   for    the   daily  strength, 

To  none  that  ask  denied. 
And  a  mind  to  blend  with  outward  life. 

While  keeping  at  thy  side; 
Content  to  fill  a  little  space, 

If  thou  be  glorified. 

And  if  some  things  I  do  not  ask. 

In  my  cup  of  blessing  be, 
I  Avould  have  my  spirit  filled  the  more 

With  grateful  love  to  thee; 
More    careful  not  to  serve   thee  much, 

But  to  please  thee  perl■cctl3^ 

There  are  briars  besetting  every  path, 

That  call  for  patient  care; 
There  is  a  cross  in  ever}*  lot, 

And  an  earnest  need  for  prayer; 
But  a  lowly  heart   that    leans  on  thee, 

Is  liappy  anywhere. 

In  a  service  which  thy  will  appoints, 
There  are  no  bonds  for  me; 

For  my  inmost  heart  is  taught  the  trut 
That  makes  thy  children  free; 

And  a  life  of  self-renouncing  love 
Is  a  life  of  liberty. 


78 


SUNDAY   BOOK    OF 


LOED  EEMEMBER  ME. 

THOMAS   IIAWKIS,   ]792. 

O  THOTT,  from  whom  all  goodness  flows, 

I  lift  my  heart  to  thee; 
In  all  my  sorrows,  conflicts,  woes, 

Dear  Lord,  remember  me. 

When  groaning,  on  my  burdened  heart 

My  sins  lie  heavily. 
My  pardon  speak,  new  peace  impart, 

In  love  remember  me  I 

Temptations  sore  obstruct  my  way; 

And  ills  I  can  not  flee: 
O,  give  me  strength,  Lord,  as  my  day; 

For  good  remember  mel 

Distressed  in  pain,  disease,  and  grief, 

Tills  feeble  body  see! 
Grant  patience,  rest,  and  kind  relief; 

Hear  and  remember  me! 

If  on  m}'-  face,  for  thy  dear  name, 

Shame  and  reproaches  be. 
All  hail  reproach,  and  welcome  shame. 

If  thou  remember  me! 

The  hour  is  near;    consigned  to  death 

I  own  the  just  decree: 
"Savior!"  with  my  last  parting  breath 

I'll  cry,  "Eemember  me!" 


LOVE-SONG  OF  THE  ANGELS. 

EDMUND   H.    SEAKS,    ISOO. 

It  came  upon  the  midnight  clear. 

That  glorious  song  of  old. 
From  angels  bending  near  the  earth 

To  touch  their  harps  of  gold; 
"Peace  to  the  earth,  good  will  to  men 

From  heaven's  all-gracious  King;" 
The  world  in  solemn  stillness  lay 

To  hear  the  angels  sin<r. 

Still  through  the  cloven  skies  they  come 
With  peaceful  wings  unfurled; 

And  still  their  heavenlj'  music  floats 
O'er  all  the  weary  world; 

Above  its  sad  and  lowly  plains. 
They  bend  on  heavenly  wing. 


And  ever  o'er  its  Babel  sounds 
The  blessed  anijels  sinjr. 

Yet  with  the  woes  of  sin  and  strife 

The  world  has  sufl'ercd  long; 
Beneath  the  angel-strain  have  rolled 

Two  thousand  years  of  wrong; 
And  men,  at  war  with  men,  hear  not 

The  love-song  which  they  bring; 
Oh!  hush  the  noise,  ye  men  of  strife/^' 

And  hear  the  angels  sing  ! 

And  ye,  beneath  life's  crushing  load, 

Whose  forms  are  bending  low, 
Who  toil  along  the  climbing  way 

With  painful  steps  and  slow; 
Look  now!  for  glad  and  golden  houra 

Come  swiftly  on  the  wing; 
Oh !  rest  beside  the  weary  road, 

And  hear  the  angels  sing! 

For  lo!  the  days  are  hastening  on, 

By  prophet-bards  foretold. 
When  with  the  ever-circling  3'ears, 

Comes  round  the  age  of  gold; 
AVhen  Peace  shall  over  all  the  earth, 

Its  ancient  splendors  fling, 
And  the  whole  world  send  back  the  song 

Which  now  the  angels  sing. 


EEST  IN   JESUS. 


linxav   FRANCIS  LTTE,    1S33. 

Long  did  I  toil,  and  knew  no  earthly  rest; 

Fiir  did  I  rove,  and  found  no  certain  liome; 
At  last  I  sought  them  in  liis  shelterin.Q;  breast, 

Who  opes  his  arms  and  bids  the  weary  come; 
AVith  him  I  found  a  home,  a  rest  divine; 
And  I  since  then  am  his,  and  he  is  mine. 

Yes!  he  is  mine!  and  nauf^ht  of  earthly  things, 
Not    all    the    charms    of    pleasure,    wealth,   or 

The  fame  of  heroes,  or  the  pomp  of  kings,  [power. 
Could  tempt  me  lo  forego  his  love  an  hour. 

Go!  worthless  world,  I  cry,  with  all  that's  thine! 

Go!  I  my  Savior's  am,  and  he  is  mine. 

The  good  I  have  is  from  his  stores  supplied; 

The  ill  is  only  what  he  deems  the  best; 
He  for  my  friend,  I'm  rich  witli  naught  beside; 

And  poor  without  him.  though  of  all  possessed; 
Changes  may  come;   I  take,  or  I  resign; 
Content,  while  I  am  his,  while  he  is  mine. 


PLEASING   AND    COMFOPwTING   LITER  VTUPE. 


:3 


Whate  er  may  change,  in  him  no  change  is  seen; 

A  glorious  Sun,  that  wanes  not  nor  declines; 
Abore  the  clouds  and  storms  he  walks  serene. 

And  sweetly  on  liis  people's  darkness  shines; 
All  may  depart;   I  fret  not,  nor  repine. 
While  I  my  Savior's  am,  while  he  is  mine. 

He  stays  me  falling,  lifts  me  up  when  down, 
Reclaims  me  wandering,  guards  from  every  foe; 

Plants  on  my  worthless  brow  the  victor's  crown; 
Which,  in  return,  before  his  feet  1  throw; 

Grieved  that  I  can  not  better  grace  his  shrine, 

Who  deigns  to  own  me  his,  as  he  is  mine. 

While  here,  alas!  I  know  but  half  his  love. 
But  half  discern  him,  and  but  half  adore; 

But  when  I  meet  him  in  the  realms  above, 
I  hope  to  love  him  better,  praise  him  more; 

And  feel,  and  tell,  amid  the  choir  divine, 

How  fully  I  am  his,  and  he  is  mine. 


EOCK  OF  AGES. 

A.   M.   TOPIADT,   177C. 

J  Aiipist'js  MontaRuo  Toplady  was  an  Enelish  clorsyninn 
cf  tlic  last  century,  of  the  school  oC  t'alvin.  Ktiv.  H.  W. 
Bewher,  in  his  lecture  talks,  says  of  the  "  Kock  of  Ages," 
that  it  expresses  jointly  the  feelinzof  longing,  the  o^iiso  of 
personal  helplessness,  and  the  sense  of  the  divine  snfliciency 
to  a  degree  scarcely  CQualed  in  any  liynin  within  his  knowl- 
edge. Anotlier  eiquisitely-beautilul  hymu,  by  tho  same 
author,  follows.] 

EocK  of  Ages,  cleft  for  mo, 

Let  me  hide  myself  in  tliee! 

Let  the  water  and  the  blood, 

From  thy  riven  side  that  flowed, 

Be  of  sin  the  double  cure. 

Cleanse  me  from  its  guilt  and  power. 

Not  the  labors  of  my  hands 
Can  fulfill  thy  law's  demands; 
Could  my  zeal  no  respite  know. 
Could  my  tears  forever  flow. 
All  for  sin  could  not  atone; 
Thou  must  save,  and  thou  alone. 

Nothing  in  my  hand  I  bring; 
Simply  to  thy  cross  I  cling; 
Naked,  come  to  thee  for  dress; 
Helpless,  look  to  thee  for  grace; 
Foul,  I  to  the  fountain  fl}'; 
Wash  me,  Savior,  or  I  die ! 

"While  I  draw  this  fleeting  breath, 
"When  my  eyestrings  break  in  death, 
When  I  soar  throught  tracts  unknown. 
See  thee  on  thy  judgnicnt-throno; 
Eock  of  Ages,  cleft  for  mo, 
Let  me  hide  myself  in  theol 


CONSOLATION  IN  SICKNESS. 

A.   M.   TOPLAPy,   1*^ 

WiiBN  languor  and  disease  invade 
This  trembling  house  of  clay, 

'T  is  sweet  to  look  beyond  our  cage, 
And  long  to  fly  away. 

Sweet  to  look  inward,  and  attend 

The  Avhispers  of  Ills  love; 
Sweet  to  look  upward  to  the  place 

Where  Jesus  pleads  above. 

Sweet  to  look  back,  and  see  my  nani-e 
In  Life's  fair  book  set  down ; 

Sweet  to  look  forward,  and  behold 
Eternal  joys  my  own. 

Sweet  to  reflect,  how  grace  divine 

My  sins  on  Jesus  laid  ; 
Sweet  to  remember  that  his  blood 

My  debt  of  suft'erings  paid. 

Sweet  on  his  righteousness  to  stand, 
Which  saves  from  second  death, 

Sweet  to  experience,  day  by  day, 
His  sjiirit's  quickening  breath. 

Sweet  on  his  faithfulness  to  rest, 
Whose  love  can  never  end  ; 

Sweet  on  his  covenant  of  grace 
For  all  things  to  depend. 

Sweet  in  the  confidence  of  faith 

To  trust  his  firm  decrees; 
Sweet  to  lie  passive  in  his  hand, 

And  know  no  will  but  his. 

Sweet  to  rejoice  in  liveU'  hope. 

That,  when  my  change  shall  eomo> 

Angels  will  hover  round  ni}'  bed, 
And  waft  my  spirit  home. 

There  shall  my  disimprisoned  soul 

Behold  him  and  adore; 
Bo  with  his  likeness  satisfied, 

And  grieve  and  sin  no  more; 

Shall  ,sco  him  wear  that  very  flesh 
On  which  my  guilt  was  lain; 

His  love  intense,  his  merit  fresh, 
As  though  but  newly  slaiul 


80 


SUKDAY    BOOK    OF 


Soon,  too,  my  slumbering  dust  shall  hear 
The  trumpet's  quickening  sound; 

And,  by  my  Savior's  power  rebuilt, 
At  his  right  hand  be  found. 

These  eyes  shall  see  him  in  that  day, 

The  God  that  died  for  me! 
And  all  my  rising  bones  shall  say, 

Loi'd,  who  is  like  to  thee? 

If  such  the  views  which  grace  unfolds, 

Weak  as  it  is  below, 
What  raptures  must  the  Church  above 

in  Jesus'  presence  know  ! 

If  such  the  sweetness  of  the  stream, 
AVhat  must  the  fountain  be. 

Where  saints  and  angels  draw  their  bliss 
Immediately  from  thee! 

O,  may  the  unction  of  these  truths 

Forever  with  me  stay. 
Till,  from  her  sinful  cage  dismissed, 

My  spirit  flies  away ! 


NEARER  MY  GOD. 

SAUAH   FLOWER  ADAMS,    1S43. 

Nearer,  my  God,  to  thee, 

Nearer  to  thee! 
E'en  though  it  be  a  cross 

That  raiseth  me; 
Still  all  my  song  shall  be, 
Nearer,  my  God,  to  thee. 

Nearer  to  thee! 

Though  like  the  wanderer, 

The  sun  gone  down, 
Darkness  be  over  me, 

My  rest  a  stone; 
Yet  in  my  dreams  I  'd  be, 
Nearer,  my  God,  to  thee, 

Nearer  to  thee! 

There  let  the  way  appear 

Steps  unto  heaven ; 
And  all  thou  send'st  to  me 

In  mercy  given; 
Angels  to  beckon  me 
Nearer,  my  God,  to  thee, 

Nearer  to  thee! 


Then  with  my  waking  thoughts 
Bright  with  thy  praise. 

Out  of  my  stony  griefs. 
Bethel  I  '11  raise; 

So,  by  my  woes,  to  bo 

Nearer,  my  God,  to  thee, 
Nearer  to  thee! 

Or,  if  on  joyful  wing, 

Cleaving  the  sky, 
Sun,  moon,  and  stars  forgot, 

Upward  I  fly; 
Still  all  my  song  shall  be, 
Nearer,  my  God,  to  thee, 

Nearer  to  thee! 


THANKFULNESS  FOR  WORLDLY  BLESSINa. 

IZAAK   WALTON. 

llzaak  Walton,  two  liundrad  years  ago,  was  an  old  man, 
living  m  tlie  heart  of  London,  who,  in  the  midst  of  close 
and  siKccssful  application  to  business,  rrtnined  a  cliildlike 
simplicity  of  cliaiucter,  and  an  nnusual  fondness  tor  country 
life.  He  was  passionately  devoted  to  tisliing,  and  his  "C'om- 
pleteAngler  is  oneof  the  curiosities  of  literutme.  Among 
tlie  variety  of  natural  objects  dwelt  upon  in  this  rare, 
miaiut  book  are  sinking  birds,  •' those  little  nimble  mu- 
sicians of  the  air  tliat  warble  forth  their  curious  ditties, 
with  which  nature  has  I'urnished  them,  to  llie  shame  ot 
art."  And,  th,-n,  having  described  the  clieerful,  re.oicing 
nofesof  his  favorite  souirstors,  lie  concludes  with  the  ijeauti- 
ful  thought:  "  Lord,  what  music  bast  thou  provided  for  the 
saints  in  heaven,  when  thou  afibrdest  bad  men  sucli  music 
on  earth." 

In  tlie  extract  which  we  hero  make,  he  is  supposed  to  bo 
talking  to  a  companion  as  they  nro  poing  on  a  tisbiiig excur- 
sion. Kisbing  lio  regarded  as  a  very  happy  employment. 
Ho  took  especial  prido  in  tho  f;<ct  that  tour  of  (  brist's 
apostles  were  fishermen,  and  that  our  .Savior  never  reproved 
them  for  their  rmployment,  or  calling,  as  be  did  tho 
Scribes  and  nioney-cbangers ;  for  "Ho  found  that  the 
hearts  of  such  men  were,  by  nature,  fitted  for  eoiitimpla- 
tion  and  quietness;  men  of  mild,  and  sweet,  and  peacesiblo 
spirits,"  such  as  honest  I/aak  himself  was,  as  the  readir 
will  see  from  his  talk  hero  gireu.J 

"Well,  scholar,  having  now  taught 
3'ou  to  paint  your  rod,  and  we  having 
still  a  mile  to  Tottenham  High  Cross, 
I  will,  as  we  walk  toward  it  in  the 
cool  shade  of  this  sweet  honeysuckle 
hedge,  mention  to  you  some  of  the 
thoughts"  and  joys  that  have  possessed 
my  soul  since  we  met  together.  And 
these  thoughts  shall  be  told  you,  that 
you,  also,  may  join  with  me  in  thankful- 
ness to  the  Giver  of  every  good  and  per- 
fect gift  for  our  happiness.  And  thatour 
present  happiness  may  appear  to  bo 
tho  greater,  and  we  tho  more  thankful 
for  it,  I  will  beg  you  to  consider  with 
me   how  many  do,   even   at   this  i  ery 


PLEASING   AND    COMFOETING    LITERATUEE. 


81 


time,  lie  under  the  torment  of  the 
stone,  the  gout,  and  toothache;  and 
this  wo  are  free  from.  And  every 
misery  that  I  miss  is  a  new  mercy; 
and,  therefore,  let  us  be  thankful. 
There  have  been,  since  we  met,  others 
that  have  met  disasters  of  broken 
limbs;  some  have  been  blasted,  others 
thunder-stricken ;  and  we  have  been 
freed  from  these  and  all  those  many 
other  miseries  that  threaten  human 
nature;  let  us,  therefore,  rejoice  and 
be  thankful.  Nay,  which  is  a  far 
greater  mercy,  we  are  free  from  the 
insupportable  burden  of  an  accusing, 
tormenting  conscience — a  misery  that 
none  can  bear;  and,  therefor,  let  us 
praise  him  for  his  preventing  grace, 
and  say,  Every  misery  that  I  miss  is 
a  new  mercy.  Nay,  let  me  tell  you, 
there  be  many  that  have  forty  times 
our  estates,  that  would  give  the  greatest 
part  of  it  to  be  healthful  and  cheerful 
like  us,  who,  with  the  expense  of  a 
little  money,  have  eat,  and  drank,  and 
laughed,  and  angled,  and  sung,  and 
slept  securely;  and  rose  next  day,  and 
cast  away  care,  and  sung,  and  laughed, 
and  angled  again,  which  are  blessings 
rich  men  can  not  purchase  with  all 
their  money.  Let  me  tell  you,  scholar, 
I  have  a  rich  neighbor  that  is  always 
so  busy  that  ho  has  no  leisure  to  laugh ; 
the  whole  business  of  his  life  is  to  get 
money,  and  more  money,  that  he  may 
still  get  more  and  more  money;  he  is 
still  drudging  on,  and  says  that  Solomon 
says,  "The  hand  of  the  diligent  maketh 
rich;"  and  it  is  true,  indeed;  but  he 
considers  not  that  it  is  not  in  the  poM'cr 
of  riches  to  make  a  man  happy;  for  it 
was  wisely  said,  by  a  man  of  great  ob- 
servation, "That  tliere  be  as  many  mis- 
eries beyond  riches  as  on  this  side  them.  " 
And  yet  God  deliver  us  from  pinching 
poverty,  and  grant  that,  having  a  com- 
petency, we  may  be  content  and  thank- 
ful! Let  us  not  repine,  or  so  much  as 
think  the  gifts  of  God  unequally  dealt, 
if  we  see  another  abound  with  riches, 


when,  as  God  knows,  the  cares  that  are 
the  keys  that  keep  those  riches,  hang 
often  so  heavily  at  the  rich  man's  gir- 
dle, that  they  clog  him  with  weary 
days  and  restless  nights,  even  when 
others  sleep  quietly.  We  see  but  the 
outside  of  the  rich  man's  happiness; 
few  consider  him  to  be  like  the  silk- 
worm, that,  when  she  seems  to  play,  is 
at  the  very  same  time  8])inning  her 
own  bowels  and  consuming  herself; 
and  this  many  rich  men  do,  loading 
themselves  with  corroding  cares  to  keep 
what  they  have,  probably  unconscion- 
ably got.  Let  us,  therefore,  be  thankful 
for  health  and  competence,  and,  above 
all,  for  a  quiet  conscience. 

Let  me  tell  you,  scholar,  that  Diogenes 
walked  on  a  day,  with  his  friend,  to 
see  a  country  fair,  where  he  saw  rib- 
bons, and  looking-glasses,  and  nut- 
crackers, and  fiddles,  and  hobb3'-horses, 
and  many  other  gimcracks;  and,  hav- 
ing observed  them,  and  all  the  other 
tinnimbruns  that  make  a  complete 
country  fair,  he  said  to  his  friend, 
"Lord,  how  many  things  are  there  in 
this  world  of  which  Diogenes  hath  no 
need!"  And  truly  it  is  so,  or  might  be 
so,  with  very  many  who  vex  and  toil 
themselves  to  get  what  they  have  no 
need  of.  Can  any  man  charge  God  that 
he  hath  not  given  him  enough  to  make 
his  life  hapi)y?  No,  doubtless;  for  na- 
ture is  content  with  a  little.  And  yet 
you  shall  hardly  meet  with  a  man  that 
complains  not  of  some  Avant,  though  he, 
indeed,  wants  nothing  but  his  will;  it 
may  be  nothing  but  his  will  of  his 
poor  neighbor,  for  not  worshiping  or 
not  flattering  him;  and  thus,  Avhen  wo 
might  be  happy  and  quiet,  wo  create 
trouble  to  ourselves.  I  have  heard  of 
a  man  that  was  angry  with  himself  be- 
cause he  was  no  taller,  and  of  a  woman 
that  broke  her  looking-glass  because  it 
Avould  not  show  her  face  to  be  as  young 
and  handsome  as  her  next  neighbor's 
was.  And  I  knew  another  to  whom 
God  had  given  health  and  plenty,  but 


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SUNDAY    BOOK    OP 


a  wife  that  nature  had  made  peevish, 
and  her  husband's  riches  had  made 
purse-proud;  and  must,  because  she 
was  rich,  and  for  no  other  virtue,  sit 
in  the  highest  pew  in  the  church; 
which  being  denied  her,  she  engaged 
hci'  husband  into  a  contention  for  it, 
and,  at  last,  into  a  hxwsuit  with  a  dogged 
neighbor,  who  was  as  rich  as  he,  and 
had  a  wife  as  peevisli  and  purse-proud 
as  the  other;  and  this  lawsuit  begot 
liigher  oppositions  and  actionable  words, 
and  more  vexations  and  lawsuits;  for, 
you  must  remember,  that  both  were 
rich,  and  must,  therefore,  have  their 
wills.  AVell,  this  willful,  purse-proud 
lawsuit  lasted  during  the  life  of  the 
first  husband,  after  which  his  wife 
vexed  and  chid,  and  chid  and  vexed 
till  she,  also,  chid  and  vexed  herself 
into  her  grave;  and  so  the  wealth  of 
these  poor  rich  people  was  cursed  into 
a  punishment,  because  they  wanted 
meek  and  thankful  hearts,  for  those 
only  can  make  us  happy.  I  knew  a 
man  that  had  health  and  riches,  and 
several  houses,  all  beautiful  and  ready- 
furnished  ;  and  would  often  trouble 
himself  and  family  to  be  removing  from 
one  house  "to  another;  and  being  asked 
by  a  friend  why  he  removed  so  often 
from  one  house  to  another,  replied,  "It 
was  to  find  content  in  some  one  of 
them."  But  his  friend  knoAving  his 
temper,  told  him  "if  he  would  find 
content  in  any  of  his  houses,  he  must 
Iciive  himself  behind  him;  for  con- 
tent will  never  dwell  but  in  a  meek 
and  quiet  soul."  And  this  may  ap- 
pear, if  we  read  and  consider  what  our 
Savior  says  in  St.  Matthew's  gospel; 
for  he  there  says:  "Blessed  be  the  mer- 
ciful, for  they  shall  obtain  mercy. 
Blessed  be  the  pure  in  heart,  for  they 
shall  see  Grod.  Blessed  be  the  poor  in 
spirit,  for  theirs  is  the  kingdom  of 
heaven.  And  blessed  be  the  meek,  for 
they  shall  possess  the  earth."  Not 
that  the  meek  shall  not  also  obtain 
mercy,  and  sec  G-od,  and  be  comforted, 


and,  at  last,  come  to  the  kingdom  of 
heaven,  but,  in  the  mean  time,  he,  and 
he  only,  possesses  the  earth,  as  he  goes 
toward  the  kingdom  of  heaven,  by  be- 
ing humble  and  cheerful,  and  content 
with  what  his  good  God  has  allotted 
him.  He  has  no  turbulent,  repinirg, 
vexatious  thoughts  that  ho  deser\es 
better;  nor  is  vexed  when  he  sees 
others  possessed  of  more  honor  or  more 
riches  than  his  wise  God  has  allotted 
for  his  share;  but  he  possesses  what  he 
has  with  a  meek  and  contented  quiet- 
ness, such  a  quietness  as  makes  his 
very  dreams  jileasing  both  to  God  and 
himself. 

My  honest  scholar,  all  this  is  told  to 
incline  you  to  thankfulness;  and,  to  in- 
cline you  the  more,  let  me  tell  j^ou, 
that  though  the  prophet  David  was 
guilty  of  murder  and  adultery,  and 
many  other  of  the  most  deadly  sins, 
yet  he  was  said  to  be  a  man  after  God's 
own  heart,  because  he  abounded  more 
with  thankfulness  than  any  other  that 
is  mentioned  in  Holy  Scri])ture,  as  may 
appear  in  his  book  of  Psalms,  where 
there  is  such  a  commixture  of  his  con- 
fessing of  his  sins  and  unworthincss,  and 
such  thankfulness  for  God's  pardon  and 
mercies,  as  did  make  him  to  be  accounted, 
even  by  God  himself,  to  be  a  man  after 
his  own  heart;  and  let  us,  in  that,  labor 
to  be  as  like  him  as  we  can;  let  not 
the  blessings  we  receive  daily  from 
God  make  us  not  to  value,  or  not  praise 
him,  because  they  be  common;  let  not 
us  forget  to  praise  him  for  the  innocent 
mirth  and  pleasure  we  have  met  with 
since  we  met  together.  What  would  a 
blind  man  give  to  see  the  pleasant  rivers, 
and  meadows,  and  flowers,  and  fountains 
that  we  have  met  with  since  we  met 
together?  I  have  been  told  that  if  a 
man  that  was  born  blind  could  obtain 
to  have  his  sight  for  but  only  one 
hour  during  his  whole  life,  and  should, 
at  the  first  opening  of  his  eyes,  fix  his 
sight  upon  the  sun  when  it  was  in  his 
full  glory,  either  at  the  rising  or  setting 


PLEASING   AND    COMFOETING   LITERATURE 


83 


of  it,  ho  would  be  so  transpoi'ted  and 
amazed,  and  so  admire  the  glory  of  it, 
that  he  would  not  willinglj'  turn  his 
eyes  from  that  first  ravishing  object  to 
behold  all  the  other  various  beauties 
this  world  could  present  to  him.  And 
this,  and  many  other  like  blessings,  Ave 
c:ijoy  daily.  And  for  most  of  them, 
because  they  be  so  common,  most  men 
forget  to  pay  their  praises;  but  let  not 
us,  because  it  is  a  sacrifice  so  pleasing 
to  him  that  made  that  sun  and  us,  and 
still  protects  us,  and  gives  us  floAvers, 
and  showers,  and  stomachs,  and  meat, 
and  content,  and  leisure  to  go  a-fishing. 
Well,  scholar,  I  have  almost  tired 
mj'self,  and,  I  fear,  more  than  almost 
tired  you.  But  I  noAV  see  Tottenham 
High  Cross,  and  our  short  wallc  thither 
will  put  a  period  to  my  too  long  dis- 
course, in  which  my  meaning  Avas,  and 
is,  to  plant  that  in  your  mind  Avith 
Avhich  I  labor  to  possess  my  OAvn  soul; 
that  ia,  a  meek  and  thankful  heart. 
And  to  that  end  I  have  shoAved  you 
that  riches  Avithout  them  (meekness 
and  thankfulness)  do  not  make  any 
man  happy;  but  let  mo  tell  you  that 
riches  with  them  remove  many  fears 
and  cares.  And,  therefore,  my  advice 
is,  that  you  endeaA'or  to  be  honest!}' 
rich  or  contentedly  poor;  but  be  sure 
that  your  riches  be  justly  got,  or  you 
spoil  all;  for  it  is  avcU  said  by  Caussin, 
"lie  that  loses  his  conscience  has 
nothing  left  that  is  worth  keeping." 
Therefore,  be  sure  you  look  to  that. 
And,  in  the  next  place,  look  to  your 
health,  and  if  3'ou  have  it,  praise  God, 
and  A'alue  it  next  to  a  good  conscience; 
for  health  is  the  second  blessing  that 
Ave  mortals  are  capable  of — a  blessing 
that  money  can  not  buy — and,  tlurefore, 
A'alue  it,  and  be  thankful  for  it.  As 
for  money  (Avhich  may  be  said  to  be  the 
third  blessing),  neglect  it  not ;  but  note, 
that  there  is  no  necessity  of  being 
rich;  for  I  told  you  there  bo  as  many 
miseries  beyond  riches  as  on  this  side 
them ;  and  if  you  have  a  competence, 


enjoy  it  with  a  meek,  cheerful,  thank- 
ful heart.  I  Avill  tell  3-0U,  scholar,  I 
haA'o  heard  a  graA'o  divine  say  that 
God  has  tAA^o  dwellings,  one  in  hcaA'cn, 
and  the  other  in  a  meek  and  thankful 
heart;  Avhich  Almighty  God  grant  to 
me  and  to  my  honest  scholar!  And  so 
3'ou  are  Avelcomo  to  Tottenham  High 
Cross. 


•  THE  SPOTLESS  CHARACTER  OF  CHRIST. 

JEREMY   TAYLOR. 

[A\'hcn  tlio  rilsrims  l.-indoil  on  tlio  ruck  at  Plymouth, 
Jeremy  Taylor  was  a  huy  srvi'ii  yoais  of  ime.  Hi-  liccamo 
one  of  the  most  fli>.nuiit  ami  imaKinativi- of  all  tin- Kiiylisli 
iliviiies.  II  in  writiiit-'H  art' ilcscrllicil  as  posscssiii!;  an  almost 
ariijclic  purity  of  feel  ins  and  ilelicary  of  fanry.  Ills  dillnea- 
lion  (if  tlio  cUaratter  of  Christ  has  probably  uevur  hetu 
ciiualed.l 

Besides  that  God  gave  testimony  from 
heaA'en  concerning  Jesus,  he  also  gave 
this  testimony  of  himself  to  haA'e  come 
from  God,  because  that  he  "did  God's 
Avill;"  for  he  that  is  a  good  man,  and 
Ha'cs,  by  the  laAvs  of  God  and  of  his  na- 
tion, a  life  innocent  and  simple,  prudent 
and  wise,  holy  and  spotless,  unreprovcd 
and  unsuspected,  he  is  certainly  by  all 
Aviso  men  said,  in  a  good  sense,  to  be  the 
son  of  God;  but  he  Avho  does  avoII  and 
speaks  Avell,  and  calls  all  men  to  glorify 
and  serve  God,  and  serA'es  no  ends  but 
of  holiness  and  charity,  of  Avisdom  of 
hearts  and  reformation  of  manners,  this 
man  carries  great  authority  in  his  say- 
ings, and  ought  to  prevail  Avith  good 
men  in  good  things,  for  good  ends,  which 
is  all  that  is  here  required. 

But  his  nature  was  so  sweet,  his  man- 
ners so  humble,  his  Avords  so  Aviso  and 
composed,  his  comportment  so  gravo 
and  Avinning,  his  answers  so  reasonable, 
his  questions  so  deep,  his  reproof  so  se- 
vere and  charitable,  his  pity  so  great' 
and  merciful,  his  preaching  so  full  of 
reason  and  holiness,  of  Aveight  and  au- 
thority, his  conversation  so  useful  and 
beneficent,  his  poverty  groat,  but  his 
alms  frequent,  his  family  so  holy  and 
religious,  liis  and  their  emj)Ioymont  so 
profitable,  his  meekness  so  incomparable, 
his   passions    Avithout    ditrerciicc.    sav^ 


84 


SUNDAY    BOOK    OF 


only  where  zeal  or  pity  carried  him  on 
to  worthy  and  apt  expressions;  a. person 
that  never  laughed,  but  often  wei)t  in  a 
sense  of  the  calamities  of  others:  he 
loved  every  man  and  hated  no  man;  he 
gave  counsel  to  the  doubtful,  and  in- 
structed the  ignorant;  he  bound  up  the 
broken  hearts,  and  strengthened  the 
feeble  knees;  ho  relieved  the  poor,  and 
converted  the  sinners;  ho  dcs])i8ed  none 
that  came  to  him  for  relief,  and  as  for 
those  that  did  not,  ho  went  to  them;  ho 
took  all  occasions  of  mercy  that  were 
oiTered  him,  and  went  abroad  for  more; 
lie  spent  his  days  in  preaching  and  heal- 
ing, and  his  nights  in  prayers  and  con- 
versation with  God:  he  was  obedient  to 
the  laws  and  subject  to  princes,  though 
he  was  the  prince  ofJudca  in  right  of 
his  mother,  and  of  all  the  Avorld  in  right 
of  his  father;  the  people  followed  him, 
but  he  mado  no  conventions,  and  when 
they  Avcre  made,  he  suffered  no  tumults ; 
when  they  would  have  made  him  a  king, 
he  withdrew  himself;  when  he  knew 
they  would  Y>'^t  him  to  death,  he  offered 
himself;  he  knew  men's  hearts,  and  con- 
versed secretly,  and  gave  answer  to 
their  thoughts,  and  prevented  their 
questions ;  ho  Avould  work  a  miracle 
rather  than  give  offense,  and  3'et  suffer 
■ever}'  offense  rather  than  see  God  his 
Father  dishonored;  he  exactly  kept  the 
law  of  Moses,  to  which  ho  came  to  put 
a  period,  and  yet  cljoso  to  signif}''  his 
purjiose  only  by  doing  acts  of  mercy 
upon  their  Sabbath,  doing  nothing  which 
they  could  call  a  breach  of  a  commund- 
ment,  but  healing  sick  people,  a  charity 
which  themselves  would  do  to  beasts, 
and  yet  they  were  angry  at  him  for 
doing  it  to  their  brethren. 

In  all  his  life,  and  in  all  his  conversa- 
tion with  his  nation,  he  was  innocent  as 
an  angel  of  light;  and  when  by  the  great- 
ness of  his  worth,  and  the  severity  of 
his  doctrine,  and  the  charity  of  his  mira- 
cles, and  the  noises  of  the  people,  and 
his  immense  fjime  in  all  that  part  of  the 
world,  and  the  multitude  of  his  disciples, 


and  the  authority  of  his  sermons,  and 
his  free  reproof  of  their  hypocrisy,  and 
his  discovery  of  their  false  doctrines  and 
weak  traditions,  ho  had  branded  the 
reputations  of  the  vicious  rulers  of  the 
people,  and  they  resolved  to  put  him  to 
death,  they  who  had  the  biggest  malice 
in  the  world,  and  the  weakest  accusa- 
tions, were  forced  to  support  their  want 
of  articles  against  liim  by  making  truth 
to  be  his  fault,  and  h  is  office  tobe  his  crime, 
and  his  open  confession  oi'what  was  asked 
him  to  be  the  article  of  condemnation; 
and  yet,  after  all  this,  they  could  not  per- 
suade the  competent  judge  to  condemn 
him,  or  to  find  him  guilty  of  any  fault; 
and,  therefore,  they  were  forced  to 
threaten  him  Avith  Caesar's  name,  against 
whom  then  they  would  pretend  him  t.> 
be  an  enemy,  though  in  their  charge 
they  neither  proved,  nor  indeed  said  it 
against  him;  and  j-et  to  whatsoever  they 
objected  he  made  no  return,  but  his  si- 
lence and  his  innocence  were  remarkable 
and  evident,  without  labor  and  reply, 
and  needed  no  more  arguments  than  th« 
sun  needs  an  advocate  to  prove  that  he 
is  the  brightest  star  in  the  firmament. 


MAERIAGE. 


JEREMY  TATXOB. 


They  that  enter  into  the  state  of  mar- 
riage cast  a  die  of  the  greatest  contin- 
gency, and  3'et  of  the  greatest  interest 
in  the  world,  next  to  the  last  throw  for 
eternity.  Life  or  death,  felicity  or  a 
lasting  sorrow,  are  in  the  power  of  mar- 
riage. A  woman,  indeed,  ventures  most, 
f<jr  she  hath  no  sanctuary  to  retire  to 
from  an  evil  husband;  she  must  dwell 
upon  her  sorrow,  and  hatch  the  eggs 
which  her  own  folly  or  infelicity  hath 
produced;  and  she  is  more  under  it,  be- 
cause lier  tormentor  hath  a  warrant  of 
]irerogative,  and  the  woman  may  com- 
plain to  God,  as  subjects  do  of  tyrant 
princes;  but  otherwise  she  hath  no  ap- 
peal in  the  causes  of  unkindness.  And, 
thoufirh    the   man    can  run  from   many 


PLEASING-   AIJD    COMFOETING    LITEEATUEE, 


85 


hours  of  his  sadness,  yet  ho  must  retui-n 
to  it  again;  and  when  he  sits  among  his 
neighbors,  he  remembers  the  objection 
that  is  in  his  bosom,  and  he  sighs  deeply. 
The  hoys,  and  the  peddlers,  and  the 
fruiterers  shall  tell  of  this  man  when  he 
is  carried  to  his  grave,  that  he  lived  and 
died  a  poor  wretched  person. 

The  stags  in  the  Greek  e])igram,  whoso 
knees  were  clogged  with  frozen  snow 
upon  the  mountains,  came  down  to  the 
brooks  of  the  valleys,  hoping  to  thaw 
theirjointswiththewatersof  tliesti'eam ; 
but  there  the  frost  overtook  them,  and 
bound  them  fast  in  ice,  till  the  young 
herdsmen  took  them  in  their  stranger 
snare.  It  is  the  unha2:)py  chance  of 
many  men,  finding  many  inconveniences 
upon  the  mountains  of  single  life,  they 
descend  into  the  valleys  of  marriage  to 
refresh  their  troubles;  and  there  they 
enter  into  fetters,  and  are  bound  to  sor- 
row by  the  cords  of  a  man's  or  woman's 
peevishness.         ^  * 

Man  and  wife  are  equally  concerned 
to  avoid  all  offenses  of  each  other  in  the 
beginning  of  their  convei-sation;  over}- 
little  thing  can  blast  an  infant  blossom; 
and  the  breath  of  the  south  can  shako 
the  little  rings  of  the  vine,  when  first 
they  begin  to  curl  like  the  locks  of  a 
new-weaned  boy;  but  when  by  age  and 
consolidation  they  stiffen  into  the  hard- 
ness of  a  stem,  and  have,  by  the  warm 
embraces  of  the  sun  and  the  kisses  of 
heaven,  brought  forth  their  clusters, 
they  can  endure  the  storms  of  the  north, 
and  the  loud  noises  of  a  tempest,  and 
yet  never  bo  broken;  so  are  the  early 
unions  of  an  un fixed  marriage — watch- 
ful and  observant,  jealous  and  busy,  in- 
quisitive and  careful,  and  apt  to  take 
alarm  at  every  unkind  word.  After  the 
liearts  of  the  man  and  wife  are  endeared 
and  hardened  by  a  mutual  confidence 
and  experience,  longer  than  ai'tifice  and 
pretense  can  last,  there  are  a  great  many 
remembrances,  and  some  things  present, 
that  dash  all  little  unkindnesscs  in  pieces. 

There  is  nothing  can  please  a  man 
33 


without  love ;  and  if  a  man  be  weary  of 
the  wise  discourses  of  the  apostles,  and 
of  the  innocency  of  an  even  and  a  pri- 
vate fortune,  or  hates  peace,  or  a  fruit- 
ful 3'ear,  he  hath  reaped  thorns  and 
thistles  from  the  choicest  flowers  of 
]iaradise;  for  nothing  can  sweeten  fe- 
iicit}^  itself  but  love;  but  when  a  man 
dwells  in  love,  then  the  breasts  of  his  wife 
are  pleasant  as  the  droppings  uj^on  the 
hill  of  Ilermon;  her  eyes  are  fair  as  the 
light  of  heaven  ;  she  is  a  fountain  sealed, 
and  he  can  quench  his  thirst,  and  ease 
his  cares,  and  lay  his  sorrows  down  upon 
her  lap,  an.d  can  retire  home  to  his  sanc- 
tuary and  refectory,  and  his  gardens  of 
sweetness  and  chaste  refreshments.  !No 
man  can  tell  but  ho  that  loves  his  chil- 
dren how  many  delicious  accents  make 
a  man's  heart  dance  in  the  pretty  conver- 
sation of  those  dear  pledges;  their  child- 
ishness, their  stammering,  their  little 
angers,  their  innocence,  their  imperfec- 
tions, their  necessities  are  so  many  little 
emanations  of  joy  and  comfort  to  him 
that  delights  in  their  persons  and  societ}'. 
*  *  It  is  fit  that  I  should  infuse  a 
bunch  of  m3'rrh  into  the  festival  goblet, 
and,  after  the  Egyptian  manner,  serve 
up  a  dead  man's  bones  at  a  feast;  I  will 
only  show  it,  and  take  it  away  again; 
it  will  make  the  wine  bitter,  but  whole- 
some. But  those  married  pairs  that  live 
as  remembering  that  they  must  part 
again,  and  give  an  account  how  they 
treat  themselves  and  each  other,  shall, 
at  that  day  of  their  death,  be  admitted 
to  glorious  espousals;  and  when  they 
shall  live  again.be  married  to  their  Lord, 
and  partake  of  his  glories,  with  Abra- 
ham and  Jose])h,  St.  Peter  and  St.  Paul, 
and  all  the  married  saints.  All  those 
things  that  now  please  us  shall  pass 
froni  us,  or  wo  from  them  ;  but  those 
t4iings  that  concern  the  other  life  are 
permanent  as  the  numbers  of  etcrnit}- 
And  although  at  the  resurrection  there 
shall  be  no  relation  of  husband  and  wife, 
and  no  marriage  shall  bo  celebrated  but 
the  marriage  of  the  Lamb,  yet  then  shall 


86 


SUNDAY    BOOK    OF 


be  remembered  how  men  and  women 
passed  through  this  state,  which  is  a 
type  of  that ;  and  from  this  sacramental 
union  all  holy  pairs  shall  pass  to  the 
spiritual  and  eternal,  where  love  shall 
be  their  portion,  and  joy  shall  crown 
their  heads,  and  they  shall  lie  in  the 
bosom  of  Jesus,  and  in  the  heart  of  God, 
to  eternal  atres. 


THE  BABY  SOLDIER. 


Another  little  private  mustered  in 
The  army  of  temptation  and  of  sin; 
Another  soldier  arming  for  the  strife. 
To  fight  the  toilsome  battles  of  a  life. 

Another  little  sentry  who  will  stand 
On  guard,  while  evils  prowl  on  every 

hand. 
Lord,  our  little  darling  guide  and  save 
'Mid  the  perils  of  the  march    to   the 

grave. 


LITTLE  MAB,T'S  GOOD-MORNING  TO  GOD. 

[These  lines,  by  an  unknown  author,  commend  themselves 
to  the  heart  of  every  parent  by  their  touchins:  l)eauty  of  senti- 
ment, so  full  are  they  of  tlie  innocence  and  simplicity  of  child- 
hood. A  little  soul  of  only  a  few  years  of  experience,  is  so 
filled  with  joy  at  its  happy  surroundings,  that  it  overflows 
with  grateful  greeting  to  the  kind  Father  of  all.] 

"0!  I  am  so  happy!"  the  little  girl  said, 
And  she  sprang  like  a  lark  from  the  low  trundle- 
bed; 
"It  is  morning,  bright  morning!   Good  morning, 

papa! 
0!  give  me  one  kiss  for  good-morning,  mamma! 
Only  just  look  at  my  pretty  canary. 
Chirping  his  sweet  'good-morning  to  Mary.' 
The  sunshine  is  peeping  straight  into  my  eyes! 
Good  morning  to  you,  Mr.  Bun — for  you  rise 
Early,  to  wake  up  my  birdie  and  me. 
And  make  us  as  happy  as  happy  can  be." 

'•'Happy  you  may  be,  my  dear  little  girl," 

And  the  mother  stroked  softly  a  clustering  curl; 

"Happy  as  can  be — but  think  of  the  One 

Who  wakened   this   morning   both  you  and  the 

sun." 
The  little  one  turned  her  bright  eyes  with  a  nod: 
"Mamma,  may  I  say.  Good  morning  to  God?" 
"Ves,"  little  darling  one,  "surely  you  mny; 
Kneel,  as  you  kneel  every  morning  to  pray!" 


I  Mary  knelt  solemnly  down  with  her  eyes 
Looking  up  earnestly  into  the  skies. 
And  two  little  hands  that  were  folded  together, 
Softly  she  laid  on  the  lap  of  her  mother — 
■'  Good    morning,   dear  Father   in  Heaven,"  she 

said; 
"I  thank  thee  for  watching  my  snug  little  bed; 
For  taking  good  care  of  me  all  the  dark  night, 
And  waking  me  up  with  the  beautiful  light.  - 
0!  keep  me  from  naughtiness  all  the  long  day. 
Blest  Jesus,  who  taught  little  children  to  pray." 

An  angel   looked  down   in   the    sunshine   and 

smiled; 
But  she  saw  not  the  angel — that  beautiful  child. 


EEJOICING  IN  OUR  RISEN  LORD. 

[Schonberg-Cotta  Family.] 

Smile  praises,  O  sky!  soft  breathe  them, 
O  air. 
Below  and  on  high,  and  every -where! 
The  black  troop  of  storms  has  yielded 
to  calm. 
Tufted  blossoms  are  j)eeping,  and  early 
palm. 

Awake  ye,  0  spring!  ye  flowers  come 
forth. 
With  thousand  hues  tinting  the  soft 
green  earth ! 
Ye  violets  tender  and  sweet  roses  bright, 
Gay    Lent-lilies    blended    with   pure 
lilies  white. 

Sweep  tides  of  rich  music  the  new  world 
along. 
And  pour  in  full  measure,  sweet  lyres, 
your  song! 
Sing,  sing,  for  he  liveth  !  he  lives,  as  he 
said  ; 
The  Lord  hath  arisen  unharmed  from 
the  dead  ! 

Clap,  clap  your  hands,  mountains!  ye 
valleys  resound  ! 
Leap,  leap  for  joy,  fountains!  ye  hills 
catch  the  sound  ! 
All  triumph,  he  liveth!  he  lives,  as  he 
said; 
The  Lord  has  arisen  unharmed  from 
the  dead! 


pleasixct  and  comfoeting  liteeatuee. 


67 


JUST  AS  I  AM. 

C.    ELLIOT. 

JfTST  as  I  am,  without  one  plea 
But  that  thy  blood  was  shed  for  me, 
And  that  thou  biddest  me  come  to  thee, 
O  Lamb  of  Grod,  I  come. 

Just  as  I  am,  and  waiting  not 
To  rid  my  soul  of  one  darlc  blot, 
To  thee,  whose  blood  can  cleanse  each 
spot, 

O  Lamb  of  God,  I  come. 

Just  as  I  am,  though  tossed  about 
With  many  a  conflict,  many  a  doubt, 
Fightings  and  fears  within,  without, 
6  Lamb  of  God,  I  come. 

Just  as  I  am,  poor,  wretched,  blind, 
Sight,  riches,  healing  of  the  mind, 
Yea,  all  I  need,  in  thee  to  find, 
O  Lamb  of  God,  I  come. 

Just  as  I  am,  thou  wilt  receive, 
Wilt  welcome,  pardon,  cleanse,  relieve! 
Because  thy  promise  I  believe, 
,  O  Lamb  of  God,  I  come. 

Just  as  I  am  (thy  love  unknown 
Has  broken  every  barrier  down). 
Now,  to  be  thine,  3'ea,  thine  alone, 
O  Lamb  of  God,  I  come. 

Tust  as  I  am,  of  that  free  love 

The  length,  breadth,  depth,  and  height 

to  prove, 
Here  for  a  season,  then  above, 
O  Lamb  of  God,  I  come. 


BEAUTIES  FROM  COWPEE. 

[OnP  of  thn  most  dolisilitful  of  men  and  sweotest  of  pnpts 
^ras  William  Cowper,  tho  son  of  an  Eiislisli  rector,  whose 
/ong  life  upon  earth  enih-il  in  the  last  year  of  the  last  cen- 
tury. In  speakin?  of  himself,  he  said  :  "  My  learuiuK  lies  in 
a  very  narrow  compass.  It  is  school-boy  learnins  sr.mewhat 
improved,  and  very  littl.-  more.  Frmii  the  au'e  of  twenty  to 
thirty-throe,  I  was  oei-npii-il,  or  oujzlit  to  have  Immii,  in  thi' 
study  of  the  law.  From  tliirty- three  tosixty,  I  havi>  sjient  my 
time  ill  the  country,  where  my  reading  has  been  only  an  apol- 
ogy for  idleness,  and  where,  when  1  had  not  a  magazine  or  a 
review  in  my  hand,  I  was  sometimes  a  carpenter,  at  others  a 
bird-case  maker,  or  a  t'ardi  iier,  or  a  drawer  of  landscapes. 
At  fifty  years  of  ase,  I  ((iinmiiieed  as  an  antlior.  It  is  a 
whim  that  has  served  me  liiii;;est  and  best,  and  wliich  will 
probably  be  my  last."  Tin-  ni'^t  teniler-hearted  of  mortals, 
Uis  biographer  Baya  of  Lim,  tlio  priucipal  pleasure  that  he 


appeared  capable  of  receiving  was,  indeed,  tliat  which  he  de- 
rived from  the  happiness  of  others  ;  not  a  sunerinj;  tliey  en- 
dured that  did  not  add  to  his  pain.  Killed  with  love  of  God, 
his  mind  for  an  unusual  course  of  years  was  liept  in  perfect 
peace.  His  great  poem,  the  Task,  is  a  reniarkal)le  produc- 
tion. "  A  vein  of  religious  thinkiiitr  |«rvaii's  ivi-rv  p.ige; 
and  hediscourses,  in  a  strain  of  the  most  tiiiishecl  poetry,  on 
the  insufficiency  of  human  pursuits."  From  the  'l'a>k,  we 
make  a  series  of  detached  extracts,  begin uing  with  amu^ical 
description  of 

RURAL    SOUNDS. 

Nor  rural  sights  alone,  but  rural  sounds, 
E.xliilcrate  tiie  spirit,  and  restore 
Tlie  lone  of  languid  nature.      Mighty  winds, 
That  sweep  the  skirt  of  some  far-.spreading 

wood 
Of  ancient  growth,  make  music  not  unlike 
The  (^sh  of  ocean  on  his  winding  shore, 
And  lull  the  spirit  while  they  fill  the  mind; 
Unnumbered  branches  waving  in  the  blast. 
And  all  their  leaves  fast  fluttering,  ail  at  once. 
Nor  less  composure  waits  upon  the  roar 
Of  distant  floods,  or  on  the  softer  voice 
Of  neighboring  fountain,  or  of  rills  that  slip 
Through  the  cleft  rock,  and  chiming  as  they 

fall 
Upon   loose  pebbles,  loose   themselves  at 

length 
Tn  matted  grass,  that  with  a  livelier  green 
Betrays  the  secret  of  their  silent  cour.se. 
Nature  inanimate  employs  sweet  sounds, 
But  animated  nature  sweeter  still, 
To  soothe  and  satisfy  the  human  ear. 
Ten  thousand  warblers  cheer  the  day,  and  one 
The  livelong  night;    nor   these   alone,  whose 

notes 
Nice-fingered  art  must  emulate  in  vain, 
But  cawing  rooks,  and  kites  that  swim  sublime 
In  still  repeated  circles,  screaming  loud, 
Tlie  jay,  the  pie,  and  e'en  the  boding  owl. 
That  hails  the  rising  moon,  have  charms  for 

me. 
Soiinds  inharmonious  in  themselves  and  harsh, 
Yet  heard  in  scenes  where  peace  forever  reigns, 
And  only  there,  pleas»  highly  (or  their  sake. 

CITY  AND  COUNTRY  COMPARKD. 
But,  tliough  true  worth  and  virtue  in  the 

mild 
And  genial  soil  of  cultivated  life 
Thrive  most,  and  may  perhaps  thrive  only 

there. 
Yet  not  in  cities  oft — in  proud  and  gay 
And  gain-devoted  cities.     Thillier  How, 
As  to  a  common  and  most  noisome  sewer, 
The  dregs  and  feculence  of  every  land. 
In  citiciTfoul  example  on  most  minds 
Becets  its  likeness.     Rank  abundance  breeds 
lu  gross  and  pampered  cities  sloth  and  lust. 


88 


SUNDAY    BOOK    OF 


And  wantonness  and  gluttonous  excess. 
In  cities  vice  is  hidden  with  most  ease, 
Or  seen  with  least  reproach  ;  and  virtue,  taught 
By  frequent  lapse,  can  hope  no  triumph  there 
Beyond  the  achievement  of  successful  flight. 
***** 

God  made  the  country,  and  man  made  the 

town. 
Wliat  wonder  then  that  health  and  virtue,  gifts 
That  can  alone  make  sweet  the  bitter  draught 
That  life  holds  out  to  all,  should  most  abound 
And    least    be    threatened    in    the   fields    and 

groves  ? 

***** 

0,  friendly  to  the  best  pursuits  of  maif, 
Friendly  to  thought,  to  virtue,  and  to  peace, 
Domestic  life  in  rural  pleasure  passed! 
Few  know  thy  value,  and  few  taste  thy  sweets; 
Tliough  many  boast  thy  favors,  and  afFect 
To  understand  and  choose  thee  for  their  own. 

A  HOME  SCENE. 
Now  stir  the  fire,  and  close  the  shutters  fast. 
Let  fall  the  curtains,  wheel  the  sofa  round, 
And,  while  the  bubbling  and  loud-hissing  urn 
Throws  up  a  steamy  column,  and  the  cups 
That  cheer  but  not  inebriate,  %vait  on  each, 
So  let  us  welcome  j^eaceful  evening  in. 

***** 
'Tis  pleasant  through   the  loop-holes   of 

retreat 
To  peep  out  upon  the  world;  to  see  the  stir 
Of  the  great  Babel,  and  not  feel  the  crowd; 
To  hear  the  roar  she  sends  through  all  her 

gates 
At  a  safe  distance,  where  the  dying  sound 
Falls  a  soft  murmur  on  th'  uninjured  ear. 

OPPRESSION. 
Oh  for  a  lodge  in  some  vast  wilderness, 
Some  boundless  contiguity  of  shade, 
Where  rumor  of  oppression  and  deceit, 
Of  unsuccessful  or  successful  war, 
Might  never  reach  me  more.    My  ear  is  pained. 
My  soul  is  sick,  with  every  day's  report 
Of  wrong  and  outrage  with  which  earth  is 

filled. 
There  is  no  flesh  in  man's  obdurate  heart. 
It  does  not  feel  for  man  ;  the  natural  bond 
Of  brotherhood  is  severed  as  the  flax 
That  falls  asunder  at  the  touch  of  fire. 
He  finds  his  fellow  guilty  of  a  skin 
Not  colored  like  his  own;  and,  having  power 
To  enforce  the  wrong,  for  such  a  worthy  cause 
Dooms  and  devotes  him  as  his  lawful  prey. 
.Lands  intersected  by  a  narrow  frith 


Abhor  each  other.     Mountains  interposed 
Make  enemies  of  nations,  who  had  else, 
Like  kindred  drops,  been  mingled  into  one. 
Thus  man  devotes  his  brother,  and  destroys; 
And  worse  than  all,  and  most  to  be  deplored! 
As  human  nature's  broadest,  foulest  blot, 
Chains  him,  and  tasks  him,  and  exacts  his 

sweat 
With  stripes,  that  mercy,  with  a  bleeding 

heart. 
Weeps  when  he  sees  inflicted  on  a  beast. 
Then  what  is  man  ?     And  what  man,  seeing 

this, 
And  having  human  feelings,  does  not  blush, 
And  hang  his  liead,  to  think  himself  a  man? 
I  would  not  have  a  slave  to  till  my  ground. 
To  carry  me,  to  fan  me  while  I  sleep. 
And  tremble  when  I  wake,  for  all  the  wealth 
That  sinews  bought  and  sold  have  ever  earned. 
No,  dear  as  freedom  is,  and  in  my  heart's 
Just  estimation  prized  above  all  price, 
I  had  much  rather  be  myself  the  slave, 
And  wear  the  bonds,  than  fasten  them  on  hiiu. 

LIBERTY. 

'Tis  liberty  alone  that  gives  the  flower 
Of  fleeting  life  its  luster  and  perfume; 
And  we  are  weeds  without  it.     All  constraint, 
Except  what  wisdom  lays  on  evil  men, 
Is  evil;  hurts  the  faculties,  impedes 
Their  progress  in  the  road  of  science;  blinds 
The  eyesight  of  discovery;  and  begets, 
In  those  that  suffer  it,  a  sordid  mind 
Bestial,  a  meager  intellect,  unfit 
To  be  the  tenant  of  man's  noble  form. 

SPIRITUAL    LIBERTY. 

But  there  is  yet  a  liberty,  unsung 
By  })oets,  and  by  senators  unpraised, 
Which  monarchs  can  not  grant,  nor  all  the 

powers 
Of  earth  and  hell  confederate  take  away: 
A  liberty,  which  persecution,  fraud, 
Oppression,  prisons,  have  no  power  to  bind; 
Which  whoso  tastes  can  be  enslaved  no  more 
'T  is  liberty  of  heart,  derived  from  heaven; 
Bought  with   HIS  blood  who  gave  it  to  man- 
kind, 
And  sealed  with  the  same  token  !     It  is  held 
By  charter,  and  that  charter  sanctioned  sure 
By  the  unimpeachable  and  awful  oath 
And  promise  of  God!      His  other  gifts 
All  bear  the  royal  stamp  that  speaks  them  his, 
And  are  august;  but  this  transcends  them  all. 
***** 

He  is  the  freeman  whom  the  truth  makes  free, 


PLEASIXG    AN^D    COMFOETING    LITERATURE, 


89 


And  all   are  slaves  beside.     There 's  not  a 

chain, 
That  hellish  foes,  confederate  for  his  harm, 
Oan  wind  around  him,  but  he  casts  it  off 
With  as  much  ease  as  Sampson  his  green 

withes. 
He  looks  abroad  into  the  varied  field 
Of  nature,  and,  though  poor  perhaps  compared 
AVith  those  whose  mansions  glitter  in  his  sight, 
Calls  the  delightful  scenery  all  his  own. 
His  are  the  mountains,  and  the  valleys  his, 
And  the  resplendent  rivers.     His  to  enjoy 
With  a  propriety  that  none  can  feel, 
But  who,  with  filial  confidence  inspired. 
Can  lift  to  heaven  an  unpresumptuoua  eye, 
And  smiling  say,  "My  father  made  them  all!" 
Are  they  not  his  by  a  peculiar  right, 
And  by  an  emphasis  of  interest  his, 
Whose  eye  they  fill  with  tears  of  holy  joy, 
Whose  heart  with  praise,  and  whose  exalted 

mind 
With  worthy  thoughts  of  that  unwearied  love 
That  planned,  and  built,  and  still  upholds  a 

world 
So  clothed  with  beauty  for  rebellious  man  ? 
Yes — ye  may  fill  your  garners,  ye  that  reap 
The  loaded  soil,  and  ye  may  waste  much  good 
In  senseless  riot;  but  ye  will  not  find, 
In  feast,  or  i-n  the  chase,  in  song  or  dance, 
A  liberty  like  his,  who,  unirapeached 
Of  usurpation,  and  to  no  man's  wrong, 
Appropriates  nature  as  his  Father's  work. 
And  has  a  richer  use  of  yours  than  you. 
He  is  indeed  a  freeman.     Free  by  birth 
Of  no  mean  city;  planned  or  ere  the  hills 
Were  built,  the  fountains  opened,  or  the  sea 
With  all  its  roaring  multitude  of  waves. 
His  freedom  is  .the  same  in  every  state; 
And  no  condition  of  this  changeful  life. 
So  manifold  in  cares,  whose  every  day 
Brings  its  own  evil  with  it,  makes  it  less; 
For  he  has  wings  that  neither  sickness,  pain, 
Nor  penury,  can  cripple  or  confine. 
No  nook  so  narrow  but  he  spreads  them  there 
With   ease,   and   is  at   large.     The  oppressor 

holds 
His  body  bound;  but  knows  not  what  a  range 
His  spirit  takes,  unconscious  of  a  chain; 
And  that  to  bind  him  is  a  vain  attempt 
Whom  God  delights  in,  and  in  whom  he  dwells. 
Acquaint  thyself  with  God,  if  thou  would'st 
taste 
His  works.     Admitted  once  to  his  embrace. 
Thou  shalt  perceive  that  thou  wast  blind  be- 
fore: 
Thine  eye  shall  be  instructed  ;  and  thine  heart, 
lyiade  pure,  shall  relish,  with  divine  delight 


Till    then    unfelt,    what    hands    divine    have 

wrought. 
Brutes    graze   the    mountain-top,    with    faces 

prone 
And  eyes  intent  upon  the  scanty  herb 
It  yields  them;  or,  recumbent  on  its  brow, 
Ruminate  heedless  of  the  scene  outspread 
Beneath,  beyond,  and  stretching  far  away 
From  inland  regions  to  the  distant  main. 
Man  views  it  and  admires;  but  rests  co'.ite.it 
With  what  he  views.     The  landscape  has  l.ib 

praise, 
But  not  its  author.     Unconcerned  who  formed 
The  paradise  lie  sees,  he  finds  it  such. 
And  such  well  pleased  to  find  it,  asks  no  mor<». 
Not  so  the  mind  that  has  been  touched  from 

heaven, 
And  in  the  school  of  sacred  wisdom  taught 
To  read   his  wonders,  in   whose  thought  the 

world. 
Fair  as  it  is,  existed  ere  it  was. 
Not  for  its  own  sake  merely,  but  for  his 
Much  more  who  fashioned  it,  he  gives  it  praise; 
Praise  that,  from  earth  resulting,  as  it  ought. 
To   earth's  acknowledged  Sovereign,  finds   at 

once 
Its  only  just  proprietor  in  him. 
To  soul  that  sees  him,  or  receives  sublimed, 
New  faculties,  or  learns  at  least  to  employ 
More  worthily  the  powers  she  owned  before, 
Discerns  in  all  things,  what,  with  stupid  gaze 
Of  ignorance,  till  then  she  overlooked — 
A  ray  of  heavenly  light,  gilding  all  forms 
Terrestrial  in  the  vast  and  in  the  minute; 
The  unambiguous  footsteps  of  the  God   • 
Who  gives  its  'uster  to  an  insect's  wings, 
And  wheels  his  throne  upon  the  rolling  worlds. 

-PLEASURE  FROM    THE    ENJOYMENT   OF 
ANIMALS. 

The  heart  ia  hard  in  nature,  and  unfit 
For  human  fellowship,  as  being  void 
Of  sympatiiy,  and  therefore  dead  alike 
To  iove   and    friendship   both,    that   is   not 

pleased 
With  sight  of  animals  enjoying  life, 
Nor  feels  their  happiness  augment  his  own. 
Tlie  bounding  fawn  that  darts  across  tiie  glade 
When  none  pursues,  through  mere  delight  of 

heart, 
And  spirits  buovant  with  excess  of  glee; 
The  horse  as  wanton,  and  almost  as  fleet, 
That  skims  the  spacious  meadow  at  full  speed, 
Then  stops  and  snorts,  and,  throwing  high  his 

heels, 
Starts  to  the  voluntary  race  again ; 


90 


SUNDAY   BOOK   OF 


The  very  kiiie  that  gamliol  at  high  noon, 
The  total  herd  receiving  first  from  one 
That  leads  the  dance  a  summons  to  be  gay, 
"*bough  wild  their  strange  vagaries,  and  un- 
couth 
vheir  efforts,  yet  resolved  with  one  consent 
"^o  give  such  act  an  utterance  as  they  may 
To  ecstasy  too  big  to  be  suppressed — 
2'hese,  and  a  thousand  images  of  bliss, 
With  which  kind  nature  graces  every  scene. 
Adhere  cruel  man  defeats  not  her  design, 
Impart  to  tlie  benevolent,  who  wish 
All  that  are  capable  of  pleasure  pleased, 
A  far  superior  iiappiness  to  theirs. 
The  comfort  of  a  reasonable  joy. 

Man  scarce  had  risen,  obedient  to  his  call 
Who  formed  him   from    the  dust,  his   future 

grave. 
When   he   was   crowned   as    never   king   was 

since. 
God  set  the  diadem  upon  his  head, 
And  angel  choirs  attended.     Wondering  stood 
The    new-made    monarch,   while    before    him 

passed. 
All  happy,  all  perfect  in  their  kind. 
The  creatures   summoned   from   their  various 

haunts 
To  see  their  sovereign  and  confess  his  sway. 
Vast  was  his  empire,  absolute  his  power, 
Or  bounded  only  by  a  law,  whose  force 
'T  was  his  sublimest  privilege  to  feel 
And  own — the  law  of  universal  love. 

man's  indebtedness  to  animals. 

Distinguished   much   by  reason,  and  still 
more 
By  our  capacity  of  grace  divine, 
From  creatures  that  exist  but  for  our  sake, 
Wliich,  having  served  us,  perisli,  we  are  held 
Accountable;  and  God,  some  future  day, 
Will  reckon  with  us  roundly  for  the  abuse 
Of  what  he  deems  no  mean  or  trivial  trust. 
Superior  as  we  are,  they  yet  depend 
Not  more  on  human  help  than  we  on  theirs. 
Their  strength,  or  speed,  or  vigilance  were  given 
In  aid  of  our  defects.     In  some  are  found 
Such  teachable  and  apprehensive  parts, 
That  man's  attainments  in  his  own  concerns. 
Matched  with  the  expertness  of  the  brute's  in 

theirs. 
Are  ofttimes  vanquished   and  thrown  far  be- 
hind. 
Some  show  that  nice  sagacity  of  smell. 
And  read  with  such  discernment,  in  the  port 
And  figure  of  the  man,  his  secret  aim. 
That  oft  we  owe  our  safety  to  a  skill 
We  could  not  teach,  and  must  despair  to  learn, 


But  learn  we  might,  if  not  too  proud  to  stoop 
To  quadruped  instructors,  many  a  good 
And  useful  quality,  and  virtue  too, 
Rarely  exemplified  among  ourselves. 
Attachment  never  to  be  weaned,  or  changed 
By  any  change  of  fortune;  proof  alike 
Against  unkindness,  absense,  and  neglect; 
Fidelity,  that  neither  bribe  nor  threat 
Can  move  or  warp;  and  gratitude  for  smaU 
And  trivial  favors  lasting  as  the  life. 
And  glistening  even  in  the  dying  eye. 

THE    HAPPY    MAN. 

He  is  the  happy  man,  whose  life  e'en  now 
Shows  somewhat  of  that  happier  life  to  come; 
Who,  doomed  to  an  obscure  but  tranquil  state. 
Is  pleased  with  it,  and,  were  he  free  to  choose. 
Would  make  his  fate  his  choice;  whom  peaces 

the  fruit 
Of  virtue,  and  whom  virtue,  fruit  of  faith, 
Prepare  for  happiness;  bespeak  him  one 
Content,  indeed,  to  sojourn  while  he  must 
Below  the  skies,  but  having  there  his  home. 
The  world  o'erlooks  him  in  her  busy  search. 
Of  objects  more  illustrious  in  her  view; 
And,  occupied  as  earnestly  as  she. 
Though    more   sublimely,    he    o'erlooks   the 

world. 
She  scorns  his  pleasures,  for  she  knows  them 

not; 
He  seeks  not  hers,  for  he  has  proved  them 

vain. 
He  can  not  skim  the  ground  like  summer  birds 
Pursuing  gilded  flies;  and  such  he  deems 
Her  honors,  her  emoluments,  her  joys. 
Therelbre  in  contemplation  is  his  bliss. 
Whose   power  is   such,   that   whom    she   lifts 

from  earth 
She  makes  familiar  with  a  heaven  unseen, 
And  shows  him  glories  yet  to  be  revealed. 
Not  slothful  he,  though  seeming  unemployed. 
And  censured  oft  as  useless.     Stillest  streams 
Oft  water  fairest  meadows,  and  the  bird 
That  flutters  least  is  longest  on  the  wing. 
Ask  him,  indeed,  what  trophies  he  has  raised. 
Or  what  achievements  of  immortal  fame 
He  purposes,  and  he  shall  answer — None. 
His  warfare  is  within.     There  unfatigued 
His  fervent  spirit  labors.     There  he  fights. 
And  there  obtains  fresh  triumphs  o'er  liimself- 
And  never  withering  wreaths,  compared  with 

which 
The  laurels  that  a  Cfesar  reaps  are  weeds. 
Perhaps  the  selfapproving  haughty  world. 
That  as  she  sweeps  him  with  her  whistling 

silks 
Scarce  deigns  to  notice  him,  or  if  she  see, 


PLEASING    AXD    COMFORTING    LITERATURE. 


91 


Deems  him  a  cipher  in  the  works  of  God, 
Receives  advantage  from  liis  noiseless  hours, 
Of  which  she  little  dreams.     Perhaps  she  owes 
Her  sunshine  and  her  rain,  her  blooming  spring 
And  plenteous  harvest,  to  the  prayer  he  makes. 
When,  Isaac  like,  the  solitary  saint 
Walks  forth  to  meditate  at  even-tide. 
And  think  on  her,  who  think.-?  not  for  herself. 
Forgive  him,  then,  thou  bustler  in  concerns 
Of  little  worth,  an  idler  in  the  best, 
If,  author  of  no  mischief  and  some  good, 
He  seek  his  proper  happiness  by  means 
That  may  advance,  but  can  not  hinder  thine. 
Nor,  though  he  tread  the  secret  path  of  life. 
Engage  no  notice,  and  enjoy  much  ease. 
Account  him  an  incumbrance  on  the  state. 
Receiving  benefits,  and  rendering  none. 
His  sphere   though    humble,  if  that   humble 

sphere 
Shine  with  his  fair  example,  and  though  small 
His  influence,  if  that  intluence  all  be  spent 
In  soothing  sorrow  and  in  quenching  strife, 
In  aiding  helpless  indigence,  in  works 
From  which  at  least  a  grateful  few  derive 
Some  taste  of  comfort  in  a  world  of  woe. 
Then  let  the  supercilious  great  confess 
He  serves  his  country,  recompenses  well 
The  state,  beneath  the  shadow  of  whose  vine 
He  sits  secure,  and  in  the  scale  of  life 
Holds  no  ignoble,  though  a  sliglited  place. 
The  man,  whose  virtues    are   more   I'elt  than 

seen. 
Must  drop,  indeed,  the  hope  of  public  praise; 
But  he  may  boast  what  few  that  win  it  can — 
That  if  his  country  stand  not  by  his  skill. 
At  least  his  follies  have  not  wrought  her  fall. 
Polite  refinement  offers  him  in  vain 
Her  golden    tube,    through    which  a  sensual 

world 
Draws  gross  impurity,  and  likes  it  well. 
The  neat  conveyance  hiding  all  the  offense. 
Not  that  he  peevishly  rejects  a  mode 
Because  the  world  adopts  it.      If  it  bear 
The  stamp  and  clear  impression  of  good  sense, 
And  be  not  costly  more  than  of  true  worth. 
He  puts  it  on,  and  for  decorum  sake. 
Can  wear  it  e'en  as  gracefully  as  she. 
She  judges  refinement  by  the  eye. 
He  by  the  test  of  con.sciencc,  and  a  heart 
Not  soon  deceived ;  aware  that  what  is  base 
No  polish  can  make  sterling;  and  that  vice, 
Though  well  perfumed  and  elegantly  dressed. 
Like  an  unburied  carcass  tricked  with  flowers, 
Is  but  a  garnished  nuisance,  fitter  far 
For  cleanly  riddance  than  for  fair  attire. 
So  life  glides  smoothly  and  by  stealth  away. 
More  golden  than  that  age  of  fabled  gold 


Renowned    in   ancient  song;   not  vexed   with 

care 
Or  stained  with  guilt,  beneficent,  approved 
Of  God  and  man,  and  peaceful  in  its  end. 
So  glide  my  life  away  !  and  so  at  last, 
My  share  of  duties  decently  fulfilled. 
May  some  disease,  not  tardy  to  perform 
Its  destined  office,  yet  with  gentle  stroke, 
Dismiss  me,  wear}',  to  a  safe  retreat 
Beneath  the  turf  that  I  have  often  trod. 


THE  HERMIT. 
[James  Beattie;  born  \73:>;  died  1S03.] 

At  the  close  of  the  day  when  the  ham- 
let is  still. 
And  mortals  the  sweets  of  forgetful- 
ness  prove, 
When  naught  but  the  torrent  is  heard 
on  the  hill, 
And    naught    but    the    nightingale's 
song  in  the  grove; 
'T  was  thus,  by  the  cave  of  the  mount- 
ain afar. 
While  his  harp  rung  symphonious,  a 
hermit  began ; 
No   more  with  himself  or  with  nature 
at  war. 
He  thought  as  a  sage,  though  he  felt 
as  a  man. 

"  'T  is  night,  and  the  landscape  is  lovely 
no  more; 
I  mourn,  but,  ye  woodlands,  I  mourn 
not  for  you; 
For  morn  is  apj^roaching,  your  charms 
to  restore, 
Perfumed  with   fresh    fragrance  and 
glittering  with  dew ; 
Nor   yet   for   the    ravage   of  winter   I 
mourn ; 
Kind  Nature  the  embryo  blossom  will 
save. 
But  when  shall  spriqg  visit  the  moldcr- 
ing  urn  ! 
O!  when  shall  it  dawn  on  the  night 
of  the  grave! 

"'Twas  thus,  by  the  glare  of  false  sci- 
ence betrayed. 
That  leads  to  bewilder ;  and  dazzlea 
to  blindj 


92 


SUNDAY    BOOK    OF 


My  thoughts  wont  to  roam,  from  shado 
onward  to  shade, 
Destruction    before   me,   and    sorrow 
behind. 
<0,  pity,  great  Father  of  Light,'  then 
I  cried, 
'Thy  creature,   who  fain  would    not 
wander  from  thee ; 
Lo,  humbled  in  dust,  I  relinquish  my 
pride, 
From  doubt  and  from  darkness  thou 
only  canst  free !' 

♦'And  darkness  and  doubt  are  now  fly- 
ing away, 
No  lotiger  I  roam  in   conjecture  for- 
lorn ; 
So   breaks   on    the   traveler,  faint   and 
astray. 
The  bright  and  the  balmy  effulgence 
of  morn. 
See  Truth,  Love  and  Mercy  in  triumph 
descending. 
And   nature   all   glowing    in   Eden's 
first  bloom! 
On  the  cold  cheek  of  death  smiles  and 
roses  are  blending, 
And  beauty   immortal  awakes  from 
the  tomb." 


DIVERSITY  IN  THE  HUMAN  CHARACTER. 

ALEXANDER   POPE. 

Virtuous  and  vicious  every  heart  must  be, 
Few  in  th'  extreme,  but  all  in  the  degree : 
The  rogue  and  fool  by  fits  are  fair  and  wise, 
And  e'en  the  best,  by  fits  what  they  despise. 
'Tis  but  by  part  we  follow  good  or  ill. 
For,  vice  or  virtue,  self  directs  it  still; 
Each  in  dividual  seeks  a  several  goal; 
Eut  heaven's  great  view  is  one,  and  that  the 

whole; 
That  counterworks  each  folly  and  caprice; 
That  disappoints  the  effect  of  every  vice; 
That  happy  frailties  to  all  ranks  applied — 
Shame  to  the  virgin,  to'the  matron  pride; 
Fear  to  the  statesman,  rashness  to  the  chief; 
To  Kings  presumption,  and  to  cowards  belief 
That  virtue's  end  from  vanity  can  raise. 
Which  seeks  no  interest,  no  reward  but  praise; 
And  build  on  wants,  and  on  defects  c»f  mind, 
The  joy,  the  peace,  the  glory  of  mankind. 
Heaven  forming  each  on  other  to  depend, 
A  master,  or  a  servant,  or  a  friend ; 


Bids  each  on  other  for  assistance  call. 

Till  one  man's  weakness  grows  the  strength  of  all. 

Wants,  frailties,  passions  closer  still  ally 

The  common  interest  or  endear  the  tie; 

To  those  we  owe  our  true  frieudsliip,  love  sincere, 

Each  homefelt  joy  that  life  inherits  here; 

Yet  from  the  same,  we  learn  in  its  decline. 

Those  joys,  those  loves,  those  interests  to  resign; 

Taught  half  by  reason,  half  by  mere  decay. 

To  welcome  death  and  calmly  pass  away. 

Whate'er  the  passion,  knowledge,  fame  or  pelf, 

Not  one  would  change  his  neighbor  with  himself; 

The  learned  is  happy,  nature  to  explore, 

The  fool  is  happy  that  he  knows  no  more; 

The  rich  is  happy  in  the  plenty  given. 

The  poor  contents  him  with  the  care  of  heaven. 

See  the  blind   beggar   dance,   the  cripple   sing, 

The  sot  a  hero,  the  lunatic  a  king; 

The  starving  chymist  in  his  golden  views, 

Supremely  blest,  the  poet  in  his  muse. 

See  some  strange  comfort  every  state  attend. 

And  pride  bestowed  on  all,  a  common  friend; 

See  some  fit  passion  every  age  supply; 

Hope  travels  through,  nor  quits  us  when  we  die. 

Behold  the  child,  by  nature's  kindly  law. 

Pleased  with  a  rattle,  tickled  with  a  straw; 

Some  livelier  plaything  gives  his  youth  delight; 

A  little  louder,  but  as  empty  quite; 

Scarfs,  garters,  gold,  amuse  his  riper  stage, 

And  cards  and  counters  are  the  toys  of  age; 

Pleased  with  this  bauble  still,  as  that  before. 

Till  tired,  he  sleeps,  and   life's  poor  play  is  o'er. 

Meanwhile  opinion  gilds,  with  varying  rays. 

Those  painted  clouds  that  beautify  our  days; 

Each  want  of  happiness  by  hojDC  supplied, 

And  each  vacuity  of  sense  by  pride; 

These  build  as  fast  as  knowledge  can  destroy; 

In  folly's  cup  still  laughs  the  bubble  joy; 

One  prospect  lost,  another  still  we  gain, 

And  not  a  vanity  is  given  in  vain; 

E'en  mean  self-love  becomes,  by  force  divine. 

The  scale  to  measure  other's  wants  by  thine. 

See!  and  confess,  one  comfort  still  must  rise, 

'Tis  this:   Though  man's  a  fool,  yet  God  is  wise. 


LOVE  OP  NATURE  TENDS  TO  LOVE  OF  GOD. 

JOHN  RUSKIN. 

[No  writer  in  this  century  has  done  bo  much  to  expose  the 
falise  in  art,  antl  to  illustrate  the  philosopliy  of  the  lieauti- 
ful  anil  the  sublime  in  God's  universe,  as  the  Englishman, 
John  Knskin.  A  close  observer,  alike  mieroscopic  and  tel- 
csciipic  in  his  seeiu?— a  profound,  original  thinker— he  is 
regarded  in  his  special  department  as  a  great  creating 
mind.  A  devout  spirit  animates  and  inspires  the  man,  and 
renders  luminous  his  writings.  We  can  not  but  feel  grate- 
ful to  one  who  thus  op"ns  our  eyes,  and  gives  us  exiiuisite  de- 
light in  pointiiicr  out,  througlx  his  more  delicate  perceptions 
and  snlith'  aoiilvsis,  beauties  in  the  natural  world  which 
our  own  unaiiii-d  visiuii  wouli?  fail  to  perceive.  With  this 
adiled  knowledge  and  ever-continuing  source  of  pleasure, 
the  joys  of  living  on  earth  are  enhanced.  It  has  been  said 
of  him,  "  He  furnishes  his  r-^aders  with  a  lens  through 
whicli  all  natural  olijects  arj  ghjiific-d;  the  sky  assumes 
new  beauty  ;  the  clouds  are  decked  with  woudrous  magnifl- 


PLEASi:N-a   AND    COMFOETIXG    LITERATUr.E. 


03 


cence;  and  even  each  individual  tree  excites  cnriosity  and 
Intense  admiration.  As  he  exults  over  them,  we  are  reaily 
toexchiim,  with  one  of  our  own  eloiivient  writers,  "  What  a 
thouglit  tliat  was  when  God  tlionglit  of  a  tree." 

We  present  from  his  writings  a  few  paragraphs,  iu  a  con- 
densed form.  J 

The  Bible  is  distinguislied  from  all 
other  early  literature  by  its  delight  in 
natural  imagery;  and  the  dealings  of 
God  with  his  people  are  calculated  pe- 
culiarly to  awaken  this  sensibility  within 
them.  The  Hebrew  literature  is  full 
of  expressions,  not  only  testifying  a 
vivid  sense  of  the  power  of  nature  over 
man,  but  showing  that  sympathy  with 
natural  things  themselves,  as  if  they  had 
human  souls,  which  is  the  especial 
characteristic  of  true  love  of  the  works 
of  Grod.  Only  consider  such  expressions 
as  that  tender  and  glorious  verse  in 
Isaiah,  speaking  of  the  cedars  on  the 
mountains  as  rejoicing  over  the  fall  of 
the  king  of  Assyria: 

"Yea,  the  fir-trees  rejoice  at  thee, 
and  the  cedai-s  of  Lebanon,  saying, 
Since  thou  art  gone  doAvn  to  the  grave, 
no  feller  is  come  up  against  us." 

See  what  sj'mpathy  there  is  here,  as  if 
with  the  very  hearts  of  the  trees  them- 
selves. So,  also,  in  the  words  of  Christ, 
in  his  personification  of  the  lilies: 

"They  toil  not,  neither  do  they  spin." 

Consider  such  expressions  as 

"The  sea  saw  that,  and  fled." 

"Jordan  was  driven  back." 

"The  mountains  skipped  like  rams; 
and  the  little  hills  like  lambs." 

Try  to  find  any  thing  in  profane 
writing  like  this.  And  note  further 
that  the  whole  book  of  Job  appears  to 
have  been  chiefly  written  and  placed 
in  the  inspired  volume  in  order  to 
show  the  value  of  natural  history,  and 
its  power  on  the  luiman  heart. 

The  books  of  the  Old  Testament, 
as  distinguished  from  all  other  early 
writings,  are  thus  prepared  for  an  ever- 
lasting influence  over  humanity;  and, 
finally,  Christ  Iximself,  setting  the  con- 
cluding example  to  the  conduct  and 
thoughts  of  men,  spends  nearly  his 
whole  life  in  the  fields,  tho  mountains,  I 


or  the  small  country  villages  of  Judea; 
and  in  the  very  closing  scenes  of  his 
life,  will  not  so  much  as  sleep  within 
the  walls  of  Jerusalem,  but  rests  at  tho 
little  village  of  Bethphage,  walking  in 
the  morning,  and  returning  in  the  even- 
ing, through  the  peaceful  avenues  0/ 
the  Mount  of  Olives,  to  and  from  his 
work  of  teaching  in  the  temple. 

It  would  thus  naturally  follow,  both 
from  the  general  tone  and  teaching  of 
the  Scrijitures,  and  from  the  example 
of  our  Lord  himself,  that  wherever 
Christianity  was  preached  and  accepted, 
there  would  be  an  immediate  interest 
awakened  in  the  works  of  God,  as  seen 
in  the  natural  world. 

The  whole  force  of  education,  until 
very  lately,  has  been  directed,  in  every 
possible  way,  to  the  destruction  of  the 
love  of  nature.  The  only  knowledge 
which  has  been  considered  essential 
among  us  is  that  of  words,  and,  tho 
next  after  it,  of  tho  abstract  sciences; 
while  ever}'  liking  shown  by  children 
for  simple  natural  history  has  been 
either  violentl}*  checked,  (if  it  took  an 
inconvenient  form  for  the  housemaids.) 
or  else  scrupulousl}'  limited  to  hours 
of  play;  so  that  it  has  realh'  been  im- 
possible for  any  child  earnestly  to  study 
the  works  of  God  but  against  its  con- 
science; and  the  love  of  nature  has  be- 
come inherently  the  characteristic  of 
truants  and  idlers.         *         *         :»; 

AVe  shall  find  that  the  love  of  nature, 
wherever  it  has  existed,  has  been  a 
faithful  and  sacred  element  of  human 
feeling;  that  is  to  say,  su]iposing  all 
circumstances  otherwise  the  same  with 
respect  to  two  individuals,  the  ono 
who  loves  nature  most  will  ahrays  be 
fnmd  to  have  more  fi\ith  in  God  than 
the  other.  Kature  worshij)  Avill  be 
found  to  bring  with  it  such  a  sense  of 
the  presence  and  power  of  a  Great  Spirit 
as  no  mere  reasoning  can  cither  induce 
or  controvert;  and  where  that  nature 
woi'ship  is  innocently  pursued,  i.  e.,  with 
due  respect  to  other  claims  on   time, 


94 


SUNDAY    BOOK    OF 


feeling,  and  exertion,  and  associated 
with  the  higher  principles  of  religion, 
it  becomes  the  channel  of  certain  sa- 
cred truths,  which  can,  by  no  other 
means,  be  conveyed. 
.  This  is  not  a  statement  which  any 
investigation  is  needed  to  prove.  It 
comes  to  ns  at  once  from  the  highest 
of  all  authority.  The  greater  the  num- 
ber of  words  which  are  recorded  in 
Scripture,  as  directly  sj^oken  to  men  b}^ 
the  lips  of  the  Deity,  are  either  simple 
revelations  of  his  law,  or  special  threat- 
enings,  commands,  and  promises  re- 
lating to  special  events.  But  two  pas- 
sages of  God's  speaking,  one  in  the  Old 
and  one  in  the  New  Testament,  possess, 
it  seems  to  me,  a  different  character 
from  any  of  the  rest.  The  one  was  to 
effect  the  last  necessary  change  in  the 
mind  of  a  man  whose  piety  was  in 
other  respects  perfect,  and  the  other 
as  the  first  statement  to  all  men  of  the 
■principles  of  Christianity  by  Christ  him- 
self. I  mean  the  thirty-eighth  to  the 
forty-first  chapters  of  the  book  of  Job, 
and  the  Sermon  on  the  Mount. 

Now  the  first  of  these  passages  is, 
from  beginning  to  end,  nothing  else 
than  a  direction  of  the  mind  which 
was  to  be  perfected  to  a  humble  ob- 
servance of  the  works  of  God  in  nature, 
and  the  other  consists  only  in  the  incul- 
cation of  three  things: 

1st.  Right  conduct. 

2d.    Looking  for  Eternal  Life. 

3d.  Trusting  God,  through  watchful- 
ness of  his  dealings  with   his  creation. 

And  the  entire  contents  of  the  Book 
of  Job  and  the  Sermon  on  the  Mount 
will  be  found  resolvable  simply  into 
these  three  requirements  from  all  men, 
that  they  should  act  rightly,  hope  for 
heaven,  and  watch  God's  wonders  and 
work  in  the  earth — the  right  conduct 
being  always  summed  up  under  the 
three  heads  of  justice,  mercy,  and  truth, 
and  no  mention  of  any  doctrinal  point 
whatsoever  occuring  in  either  j)iece  of 
divine  teaching. 


As  far  as  I  can  judge  of  the  WQ^ys  of 
men,  it  seems  to  me  that  the  simplest 
and  most  necessary  truths  are  always 
the  last  believed;  and  I  suj)pose  that 
well-meaning  people,  in  general,  would 
rather  regulate  their  conduct  and  fireed 
by  almost  any  other  portion  of  Scrip- 
ture whatsoever  than  b}'  that  Sermon  on 
tlie  Mount,  which  contains  the  things 
which  Christ  thought  it  first  necessary 
for  all  men  to  understand.         *         * 

The  love  of  nature,  I  believe,  is  pre- 
cisely the  most  healtby  element  which 
belongs  to  us,  and  that  out  of  it,  culti- 
vated in  earnestness  and  as  a  duty,  re- 
sults will  spring  of  an  importance  at 
present  inconceivable;  and  lights  arise, 
which,  for  the  first  time  in  man's  his- 
tory, will  reveal  to  him  the  true  nature 
of  his  life,  the  true  field  for  his  energies, 
and  the  true  relations  between  him  and 
his  Maker.         *         >i<         s};         *         ^ 

The  delights  of  horse-racing  and 
hunting,  of  assemblies  in  the  night  in- 
stead of  the  day;  of  costly  and  weari- 
some music;  of  costly  and  burdensome 
dress;  of  chagrined  contention  for  place, 
or  power,  or  wealth,  or  the  eyes  of  the 
multitude;  and  all  the  endless  occupa- 
tion without  purpose,  and  idleness  with- 
out rest,  of  our  vulgar  world,  are  not, 
it  seems  to  me,  enjoyments  we  need  be 
ambitious  to  communicate.  And  all 
real  and  wholesome  enjoyments  possi- 
ble to  man  have  been  just  as  possible 
to  him  since  first  he  was  made  of  the 
earth  as  they  are  now;  and  they  are 
possible  to  him  chiefly  in  quiet.  To 
watch  the  corn  grow  and  the  blossoms 
set;  to  draw  hard  breath  over  the  plow- 
share or  spade ;  to  read,  to  think,  to 
love,  to  hope,  to  pray — these  are  the 
things  that  mahe  men  happy ;  they  have 
always  had  the  power  of  doing  these, 
they  never  will  have  power  to  do  more. 

The  time  will  come,  I  do  verily  be- 
lieve, when  the  world  will  understand 
that  God  paints  the  clouds  and  shapes 
the  moss  fibers,  that  men  may  be  happy 


PLEASING   A]S"D    C0MF0ETI:N'G   LITEEATUEE. 


95 


in  seeing  him  at  his  work,  and  that  in 
resting  quietly  beside  him,  and  watch- 
ing his  working;  and,  according  to  the 
power  he  has  communicated  to  our- 
selves, and  the  guidance  he  grants, 
in  carrying  out  his  purposes  of  peace 
and  charity  among  all  his  creatures, 
are  the  only  real  happinesses  that  ever 
were,  or  will  be,  possible  to  mankind. 
When  the  active  life  is  nobly  fuUiUed, 
and  the  mind  is  then  raised  beyond  it 
into  clear  and  calm  beholding  of  the 
world  around  us,  the  tendency  mani- 
fests itself  in  the  most  tender  waj^;  the 
simplest  forms  of  nature  are  strangely 
animated  by  the  sense  of  the  Divine 
presence;  the  trees  and  flowers  seem  all, 
in  a  sort,  children  of  God  ;  and  avo,  our- 
selves, their  fellows,  made  out  of  the 
same  dust,  and  greater  than  they  only 
in  having  a  greater  portion  of  the  Di- 
vine power  exerted  on  our  frames,  and 
all  the  common  uses  and  palpably  vis- 
ible forms  of  things  become  subordi- 
nate in  our  minds  to  their  inner  glory — 
to  the  mysterious  voices  in  which  they 
talk  to  us  about  God,  and  the  change- 
ful and  typical  aspects  by  which  they 
witness  to  us  holy  truth,  and  fill  us  with 
obedient,  joyful,  and  thankful  emotion. 


CHIMES  OF  NOON. 
[Sliss  Edna  Poan  Proctor;  a  Now  England  lady.] 

NooN  by  God's  unerring   dial — highest 

noon  of  earth  and  time. 
Through  the  great   cathedral  heavens, 

hark!  the  chimes  peal  out  sublime; 
Chimes  that  marked  the  rounding  ages, 

ever  grander  in  their  play, 
Einging    clear  when  right  was  victor, 

up  through  all  the  morning  gray; 
Now  they  blend  and  rise  triumphant — 

blessed    bells!    how    sweet   your 
singing! 
'Tis  the  chorus    of  the   ages,  'tis  the 

noonday  chimes  arc  ringing! 

God  be  praised!  we  softly  echo,  as  the 
wondious  music  swells, 


Swaying    all    the    warm    tides    hidden 

deep  in  feeling's  holy  wells; 
God  be  praised,  it  is  the  singing  earth 

has  yearned  so  long  to  hear 
Stealing  through  the  tumult,  promise  of 

Jhe  nobler  year  ! 
"  Liberty  for  every  creature !" — thus  the 

mellow  measures  flow — 
"Liberty,  and  love,  and  honor!"  chant 

the  bells  serene  and  slow. 

Fainter  now  the  pcans  falter,  while  a 
wailing  alien  strain. 

Winding  through  its  mournful  minor, 
thrills   the   air  Avith   sudden  pain; 

List!  the  happy  voices  droAvn  it,  sor- 
row shall  not  mar  the  boon 

Of  the  bells  that  high  and  cheerly 
sound  the  glorious  airs  of  noon  ! 

"Liberty  the  wide  earth  over!" — still 
the  measures  rise  and  fall — 

"God,  the  Father,  Man,  the  brother,  so 
an  end  of  scorn  and  thrall." 

Chimes    celestial !   we    arc    drifting   by 

your  calm,  melodious  tune. 
Out    of    cloudy,    misty    morning    into 

sunlit  afternoon. 
There  are  seas  for  wary  sailing.  thei'O 

are  mountains  steep  to  climb. 
Ere  we  gain  the  placid  regions  of  the 

world's  millennial  prime; 
Still  the  rage  and   roar   of  battle,  still 

the  pride  and  power  of  wrong. 
Yet  our  labor  shall  be  lighter,  hearing 

sweet  your  prophet-song. 

From  the  future,  while  we  listen,  fades 
the  filmy  veil  away ; 

Broad  the  sunset  glory  brightens,  burns 
to  greet  the  eternal  day! 

Vanish  earth's  despairing  shadows — oVr 
her  plains  what  splendor  shine! 

Drained  the  brimming  cup  of  vengcanco, 
now  she  qnatfs  divinest  Avine! 

Clearer,  sweeter  chimes  are  rising  as  in 
radiance  melts  the  sun — 

'Tis  the  welcome  of  the  angels.  Al- 
leluia !  heaven  is  won  ! 


96 


SUNDAY    BOOK    OF 


FOLLOW  ME 

Voyager  on  life's  troubled  sea, 
Sailing  to  Eternity, 
Turn  from  earthly  things  away; 
Vain  they  are,  and  brief  their  stay; 
Chaining  down  to  earth  the  heart. 
Nothing  lasting  they  impart. 
Voyager,  what  are  they  to  thee? 
Leave  them  all,  and  follow  Me. 

Traveler  on  the  road  of  life, 
Seeking  pleasure,  finding  strife  ; 
Know  the  world  can  never  give 
Aught  on  which  the  soul  can  live: 
Grasp  not  riches,  seek  not  fame — 
Shining  dust  and  sounding  name. 
Traveler,  what  are  they  to  thee? 
Leave  them  all,  and  follow  JVIe. 

Wanderer  from  thy  Father's  throne, 
Hasten  back — thine  errings  own; 
Turn — thy  path  loads  not  to  heaven 
Turn — thy  sins  will  be  forgiven: 
Turn — and  let  thy  songs  of  praise 
Mingle  with  angelic  laj^s. 
Wanderer,  here  is  bliss  for  thee; 
Leave  them  all  to  follow  Me ! 


SOLILOQUY  OP  ALEXANDER  SELKIRK. 


WILLIAM   COWPER. 


rVersps  supposed  to  be  written  hy  Alexander  Selkirk  (the 
original  of  Di'foe's  fiction  of  Kobinson  Crusoe),  ilurine  his 
Bolitary  abode  on  the  desert  island  o*'  Juan  Fernandez.] 

I  AM  monarch  of  all  I  survey. 

My  right  there  is  none  to  dispute; 
From  the  center  all  round  to  the  sea, 

I  am  lord  of  the  fowl  and  the  brute. 
Oh,  Solitude!  where  are  the  charms. 

That  sages  have  seen  in  thy  face? 
Better  dwell  in  the  midst  of  alarms. 

Than  reign  in  this  horrible  place. 

1  am  out  of  humanity's  reach, 
T  must  finish  my  journey  alone, 

iNever  hear  the  sweet  music  of  sj^eech, 
I  start  at  the  sound  of  my  own. 


The  beasts,  that  roam  over  the  plain, 
M}'  form  with  indifference  sec ; 

They  are  so  unacquainted  with  man, 
Their  tameness  is  shocking  to  me. 

Society,  friendship,  and  love, 

Divinely  bestowed  upon  man, 
Oh!  had  I  the  wings  of  a  dove. 

How  soon  would  I  taste  j^ou  again ! 
My  sorrows  I  then  might  assuage 

In  the  ways  of  religion  and  truth, 
Might  learn  from  the  wisdom  of  age. 

And  be  cheered  by  the  sallies  of  youth. 

Religion !  what  treasure  untold 

Resides  in  that  heavenly  word! 
More  precious  than  silver  and  gold, 

Or  all  that  this  earth  can  aftbrd. 
But  the  sound  of  the  church-going  bel] 

These  valleys  and  rocks  never  heard, 
Never  sighed  at  the  sound  of  a  knell, 

Or  smiled  when  a  Sabbath  appeared. 

Ye  winds,  that  have  made  me  your  sport. 

Convey  to  this  desolate  shore 
Some  cordial  endearing  report 

Of  a  land  I  shall  visit  no  more. 
My  friends^  do  they  now  and  then  send 

A  wish  or  a  thought  after  me? 
O  tell  me  I  yet  have  a  friend. 

Though  a  friend  I  am  never  to  see. 

How  fleet  is  a  glance  of  the  mind! 

Compared  with  the  speed  of  its  flight. 
The  tempest  itself  lags  behind, 

And  the  swift-winged  arrows  of  light 
When  I  think  of  my  own  native  land. 

In  a  moment  I  seem  to  be  there; 
But,  alas!  recollection  at  hand 

Soon  l^urries  me  back  to  despair. 

But  the  sea- fowl  is  gone  to  her  nest, 

The  beast  is  laid  down  in  his  lair; 
Even  here  is  a  season  of  rest, 

And  I  to  my  cabin  repair. 
There  's  mercy  in  ever}'  place, 

And  mercy,  encouraging  thought! 
Gives  even  afiiiction  a  grace. 

And  reconciles  man  to  his  lot. 


PLEASING    AND    COMFORTING    LITEKATURE. 


97 


CONTENTMENT. 


ANCIEVT  60NGS. 


My  mind  to  me  a  kingdom  is; 

Such  perfect  joy  thei-ein  I  find, 
As  flir  exceeds  all  earthly  bliss 

That  world  affords,  or  grows  by  kind  : 
Though  much  I  want  what  most  men 

have. 
Yet  doth  my  mind  forbid  me  crave. 

Content  I  live — this  is  my  stay; 

I  seek  no  more  than  may  suffice — 
I  press  to  bear  no  haughty  sway  ; 

Look — what  I  lack  my  mind  sujij^lies. 
Lo  !  thus  I  triumph  like  a  king. 
Content  with  that  my  mind  doth  bring. 

I  see  how  plenty  surfeits  oft, 
And  hasty  climbers  oft  do  fall; 

I  see  how  those  that  sit  aloft 

Misliap  doth  threaten  most  of  all ; 

They  get — they  toil — they  S2)end  with 
care : 

Such  cares  my  mind  could  never  bear. 

I  laugh  not  at  another's  loss, 
I  grudge  not  at  another's  gain  ; 

No  worldly  wave  my  mind  can  toss; 
I  brook  that  is  another's  pain. 

I  fear  no  foe — I  scorn  no  friend: 

I  dread  no  death — I  fear  no  end. 

Some  have  too  much, yet  still  they  crave; 

I  little  have,  yet  seek  no  more; 
They  are  but  poor — though  much  they 
have. 

And  I  am  rich — with  lii-'lo  store. 
They  poor,  I  rich:  they  beg,  I  give: 
They  lack,  I  lend :  they  pine,  I  live. 

I  wish  not  what  I  have  at  will : 

I  wander  not  to  seek  for  more: 
I  like  the  plain;  I  climb  no  hill  : 

In  greatest  storm  1  sit  on  shore, 
And  laugh  at  those  that  toil  in  vain, 
To  get  what  must  bo  lost  again. 
This  is  my  choice;  for  why — I  find 
No  wealth  is  like  a  quiet  mind. 


THE  AUTUMN  EVENING. 

[Peabody,  a  poet  of  Niw  England. J 

Behold  the  western  evening  light! 

It  melts  in  deepening  gloom  : 
So  calmly  Christians  sink  away, 

Descending  to  the  tomb. 

The  winds  breathe  low;  the  withering 
leaf 

Scarce  whispers  from  the  tree: 
So  gently  flows  the  parting  breath, 

AVhen  good  men  cease  to  be. 

How  beautiful  on  all  the  hills 

The  crimson  light  is  shed  ! 
'T  is  like  the  peace  the  Christian  gives 

To  mourners  round  his  bed. 

IIow  mildl}'  on  the  wandering  cloud 

The  sunset  beam  is  cast! 
'T  is  like  the  memory  left  behind 

When  loved  ones  breathe  their  last. 

And  now,  above  the  dews  of  night. 

The  yellow  star  appears: 
So  fixith  springs  in  the  heart  of  those 

Whose  eyes  are  bathed  in  tears. 

But  soon  the  morning's  happier  light 

Its  glory  shall  restore: 
And  eyelids  that  are  sealed  in  death 

Shall  wake  to  close  no  more. 


THE  FLIGHT  OF  TIME. 


[Jfts.  G.  Percival;  bom  in  Cnnnortiiut  in  17'.'';  dii'd  in  Wts- 
cuiisin  in  lxV>. ] 

Faintly  flow,  thou  falling  river, 

Like  a  dream  tliat  dies  away; 
Down  to  ocean  gliding  ever, 

Keep  thy  calm  unruffled  way: 
Time  with  such  a  silent  motion, 

Floats  along,  on  wings  of  air. 
To  eternity's  "dark  ocean. 

Burying  all  its  treasures  there. 

Roses  bloom,  and  then  they  wither; 
Cheeks  are  bright,  then  fade  and  die; 

Shapes  of  light  are  wafted  hither- 
Then,  like  visions,  hurry  by: 


98 


SUNDAY    BOOK    OF 


Quick  as  clouds  at  evening  driven 
O'er  the  many-colored  west, 

Years  are  bearing  us  to  heaven, 
Home  of  happiness  and  rest. 


A  SABBATH  EETROSPEOT. 


H.   W.    LONGFELLOW. 


"Sleep,  sleep  to-day,  tormenting' cares. 

Of  earth  and  folly  horn!" 
Solemnly  sang  the  village  choir 

On  that  sweet  Sabbath  morn. 

Through  the  closed  blinds  the  golden 
sun 

Poured  in  a  dusty  beam, 
Like  the  celestial  ladder  seen 

By  Jacob  in  his  dream. 

And  ever  and  anon,  the  wind, 
Sweet-scented  with  the  hay. 

Turned  o'er  the  hymn-book's  fluttering 
leaves. 
That  on  the  window  lay. 


FRITZ  INSTRUOTINa  THE  CHILDREN. 
[The  Schonberg  Gotta  Family.] 

JULY,  1527. 

Fritz  is  at  home.  It  was  delightful 
to  see  what  festival  his  return  was,  not 
only  in  the  home,  but  in  the  village — 
the  children  running  to  the  doors  to 
receive  a  smile,  the  mothers  stopping 
in  their  work  to  welcome  him.  The 
day  after  his  return  was  Sunday.  As 
usual,  the  children  of  the  village  were 
assembled  at  five  o'clock  in  the  morn- 
ing to  church.  Among  them  were  our 
boys,  and  Chriemhild's  and  Eva's  twins, 
Heinz  and  Agnes — rosy,  merry  chil- 
dren of  the  forest  they  are.  All,  hoAv- 
ever,  looked  as  good  and  sweet  as  if 
they  had  been  children  of  Eden,  as 
they  tripped  after  each  other  over  the 
village  green,  their  bright  little  forms 
passing  in  and  out  of  the  shadow  of 
the  great  beech-tree  w^hich  stands  op- 
posite the  church. 

The  little  company  all  stood  together 


in  the  church  before  the  altar,  while 
Fritz  stood  on  the  step  and  taught 
them.  At  first  they  sang  a  hymn,  the 
elder  boys  in  Latin,  and  then  alto- 
gether in  German ;  and  then  Fritz 
heard  them  say  Luther's  Catechism. 
How  sweetly  the  lisping,  childish  voices 
answered  the  deep,  manly  voice,  like 
the  rustling  of  countless  summer  leaves 
outside,  or  the  fall  of  the  countless  tiny 
cascades  of  the  village  stream  in  the 
still  summer  morning ! 

"My  dear  child,  what  art  thou?"  he 
said. 

Answered  from  the  score  of  little 
hushed,  yet  ringing  voices — 

"I  am  a  Christian." 

"How  dost  thou  know  that?" 

"Because  I  am  baptized,  and  believe 
on  my  dear  Lord  Jesus  Christ." 

"What  is  it  needful  that  a  Christian 
should  know  for  his  salvation" 

Answer. — "  The  Catechism." 

And  afterwards,  in  the  part  concern- 
ing the  Christian  faith,  the  sweet  voices 
repeated  the  creed  in  Grerman : 

"I  believe  in  God,  the  Father  Al- 
mighty!" 

And  Fritz's  voice  asked  gently — 

"What  does  that  mean?" 

AnsAver. — "I  believe  that  God  has 
created  me  and  all  creatures ;  has  given 
me  body  and  soul,  eyes,  ears,  and  all 
my  limbs;  reason,  and  all  my  senses; 
and  still  preserves  them  to  me;  and 
that  he  has  also  given  me  m}'  clothes 
and  my  shoes,  and  whatsoever  I  eat  or 
drink;  that  richly  and  daily  he  pro- 
vides me  with  all  needful  nourishment 
for  body  and  life,  and  guards  me  from 
all  danger  and  evil;  and  all  this  out  of 
pure,  fatherly  divine  goodness  and  mer- 
c}^,  without  any  merit  of  deserving  of 
mine.  And  for  all  this  I  am  bound  to 
thank  and  praise  him,  and  also  to  serve 
and  obey  him.     This  is  certainly  true." 

Again : 

"I  believe  in  Jesus  Christ,"  etc. 

"What  does  that  mean?" 

"I    believe    that  Jesus    Christ,    true 


PLEASING   AND    COilFOETING   LITEEATUIIE, 


99 


God,  begotten  from  the  Father  from 
eternity,  and  also  true  man,  born  of 
the  Virgin  Mary,  is  my  Lord,  who  has 
redeemed  me  a  lost  and  condemned  hu- 
man creature ;  has  purchased  and  Avon 
me  from  all  sins,  from  death  and  from 
the  power  of  the  devil,  not  with  silver 
and  gold,  but  with  his  own  holy, 
precious  blood,  and  with  his  innocent 
suffering  and  dying,  that  I  may  be  his 
own,  and  live  in  his  kingdom  under 
him,  and  serve  him  in  endless  right- 
eousness, innocence,  and  blessedness, 
even  as  he  is  risen  from  the  dead,  and 
lives  and  reigns  forever.  This  is  cer- 
tainly true." 

And  again: 

"I  believe  in  the  Holy  Ghost." 

"What  does  that  mean?" 

"I  believe  that  not  by  my  own  reason 
or  power  can  I  believe  on  Jesus  Christ, 
my  Lord,  or  come  to  him;  but  the 
Holy  Ghost  has  called  me,  through  the 
Gospel,  enlightened  me  with  his  gifts, 
sanctified  and  kept  me  in  the  right 
faith,  as  he  calls  all  Christian  people  on 
earth;  gathers,  enlightens,  sanctifies 
them,  and  through  Jesus  keeps  them  in 
the  right  and  only  faith,  among  which 
Christian  people  he  daii}',  richly  for- 
gives all  sins,  to  me  and  all  believers, 
and,  at  the  last  day,  will  awaken  me 
and  all  the  dead,  and  to  mo  and  all  be- 
lievers in  Christ  will  give  eternal  life. 
This  is  certainly  true." 

And,  again,  on  the  Lord's  prayer, 
the  children's  voices  began: 

"Our  Father,  who  art  in  heaven." 

"What  does  that  mean?" 

"God  will,  in  this  way,  sweetly  per- 
suade us  to  believe  that  he  is  our  true 
Father,  and  that  wc  are  his  true  chil- 
dren ;  that  cheerfully,  and  with  all  confi- 
dence, Ave  may  ask  of  him  as  dear  chil- 
dren ask  of  their  dear  fathers." 

And,  at  the  end, 

"What  docs  Amen  mean?" 

"That  1  should  be  sure  such  prayers 
are  acceptable  to  the  Father  in  heaven, 
and    granted    by  him,  for  he  himself 


has  taught  us  thus  to  pray;  and  prom- 
ised that  he  will  hear  us.  Amen, 
amen — that  means.  Yes,  yes,  that  shall 
be  done." 

And  when  it  Avas  asked, 

"Who  receives  the  holy  Sacrament 
Avorthily?" 

Softly  came  the  answer: 

"He  is  truly  and  rightly  prepared 
Avho  has  faith  in  these  Avords  :  'Given 
and  shed  for  you  for  the  forgiveness 
of  sins.'  But  he  Avho  doubts  or  dis- 
belieA'es  these  words  is  unworthy  and 
unprepared;  for  the  Avords,  '/or  2/ow,' 
need  simple  believing  hearts." 

As  I  listened  to  the  sim])le  living 
Avords,  I  could  not  Avonder  that  Dr. 
Luther  often  repeats  them  to  him^-clf, 
or,  rather,  as  he  saj's,  "^o  God,''  as  an 
antidote  to  the  fiery  darts  to  the  wicked 
one. 

And  so  the  childish  voices  died  away 
in  the  morning  stillness  of  the  church, 
and  the  shadoAvs  of  the  columns  fell  si^ 
lently  across  the  grassy  mounds  or 
Avooden  crosses,  beneath  Avhicli  rest  the 
A'illage  dead;  and  as  we  Avent  home, 
the  long  shadoAv  of  the  beech-tree  fell 
on  the  dcAvy  A'illage  green. 

Then,  before  eleven  o'clock  the  church- 
bell  began  to  ring,  and  the  peasants 
came  trooping  from  the  difterent  clear- 
ings of  the  forest.  One  by  one  avc 
Avatched  the  various  groups  in  their 
bright  holidaj''  dresses,  issuing  out  of 
the  depths  of  the  dark  green  shade, 
among  them,  doubtless,  manj'  a  branch 
of  the  Luther  fiimily  Avho  live  in  this 
neighborhood.  AfterAvards  each  door 
in  the  village  poured  out  ifs  contribu- 
tion, and  soon  the  little  church  was 
full,  the  men  and  women  seated  on  the 
opposite  side  of  the  church,  and  the  aged 
gathered  around  the  pulpit.  Fritzs 
text  Avas  Eva's  motto,  '-God  so  loved  the 
icorUy  Simply  with  illustrations  such 
as  they  could  understand,  he  spoke  to 
them  of  Qod's  infinite  love,  and  the  in- 
finite cost  at  Avhich  he  had  refleemcd 
us;    and   of  the   love,    and    trust,    and 


100 


SUNDAY    BOOK    OF    LITEEATUEE. 


obedience  we  OAve  him;  unci,  according 
to  Dr.  Luther's  advice,  he  did  not  speali 
too  long,  but  "called  black  black,  and 
white  white,  keeping  to  one  simple 
subject,  so  that  the  people  may  go 
away  and  say,  '  The  sermon  was  about 
this.' "  For,  as  I  heard  Dr.  Luther 
say,  "  "We  must  not  speak  to  the  com- 
mon people  of  high  difficult  things, 
or  with  mysterious  words.  To  the 
church  come  little  children,  maid-ser\;^- 
ants,  old  men  and  women,  to  whom 
high  doctrine  teaches  nothing ;  for  if 
they  say  about  it,  'Ah,  he  said  ex- 
cellent things;  he  has  made  a  fine  ser- 
mon!' And  who  asks,  '\yhat  about, 
then?'  they  reply,  'I  know  not.'  Let 
tis  remember  what  pains  our  Lord  Christ 
took  to  preach  simply.  From  the  vine- 
yard, from  the  sheepfold,  from  trees  he 
drew  his  illustrations,  all  that  the  peo- 
ple might  feel  and  understand." 


That  sermon  of  Fritz's  left  a  deep  rest 
in  my  heart.  He  spoke  not  of  justifica- 
tion and  redemption  merely,  but  of  God 
redeeming  and  justifying  us.  Greater 
service  can  no  one  render  us  than  to 
recall  to  us  what  God  has  done  for  us, 
and  how  he  really  and  tenderly  cares 
for  us. 

In  the  afternoon  the  children  were 
again  gathered,  for  a  little  while,  in 
the  school-room,  and  questioned  about 
the  sermon.  At  sunset  again  we  all 
met  for  a  short  service  in  the  church, 
and  sang  evening  hymns  in  German, 
after  which,  the  pastor  pronounced 
the  benediction,  and  the  little  commu- 
nity scattered  once  more  to  their  vari- 
ous homes. 

With  the  quiet  sunshine,  and  the 
light  shed  on  the  I'ome  by  Fritz's  re- 
turn, to-daj"  s<«eme'J  U>  me  almost  a  day 
in  Paradise. 


V     *«     ^ 


3 


P^FPT 


WRITTEN   IN 


Church  Y. 


OUNTRY    LHURCH     ]  ARD, 
BY  THOMAS  GRAY. 


6T0KE-P0GES  CHURCH— SCENE  OF  THE  ELEGY. 


.  WITH   34   ILLUSTRATIONS, 

BY  TUE  MOST  EMINENT  ARTISTS  OF  ENGLAND. 


BRADLEY,  GARRETSON  &  CO., 

PHILADELPHIA,    NO.    6G    NORTH    TOVB.'tB    BTREEI, 

WILLIAM  GARRETSON  A  CO., 

OALESBU&O,   ILL.,    COLUMBUS,   OHIO,    NASHVILLE,    TENN.,    HODSTOM,   TEXAS, 
SAN    VEANCISCO,   CAI. 


INTKODUCTION 


Gray's    Elegy. 


vTP  HOMAS  GRAY,  the  author  of  the  Elegy,  "  for  its  size  the 
'Sxii  most  popular  poem  ever  written  in  any  language,"  was 
^  born  at  Corn-hill,  London,  in  1716.  His  lather,  like  that 
of  Milton,  was  an  Exchange  Broker. 

He  was  a  man  of  correct  morals,  but  yet  so  harsh  and  violent 
in  disposition  that  his  wife  was  forced  to  separate  from  him.  It 
was  to  the  exertions  of  this  excellent  woman,  as  a  partner  with 
her  sister  in  the  millinery  business,  that  the  poet  was  given  the 
advantages  of  a  university  education.  The  painful  domestic 
circumstances  of  his  youth  lent  a  tinge  of  melancholy  and  pen- 
sive reflection  to  Gray,  which  is  visible  in  his  poetry.  Gray  was 
a. severe  scholar,  who  loved  learning  for  learning's  sake.  Asa 
man  he  was  nice,  lesers'ed  and  delicate.  He  wrote  but  little; 
but  that  little  was  polished  to  the  last  degree.  In  1749,  when  he 
was  33  years  of  age,  his  "Elegy  written  in  a  Country  Church- 
yard" was  printed.  It  is  said  he  had  it  in  preparation  many 
years,  which  is  doubtless  true,  for  it  is  finished  with  the  most 
exquisite  polish.  Every  line,  every  word,  even  every  syllable 
was  a  subject  of  continuous  and  oft-repeated  pains-taking,  care- 
ful study.  It  became  immediately  popular  with  all  cla.sses, 
although  not  regarded  by  some  scholars  as  the  highest  of  his 
productions.  '•  The  highest  poetry,  '  it  has  been  .said,  '■  can  never 
be  very  extensively  popular.    A  simple  ballad  air  will  convey 


pleasure  to  a  greater  number  of  persons  than  tlie  most  success- 
ful efforts  of  accomplished  musical  taste  and  genius ;  and  In  like 
manner  poetry  ■\vliich  deals  with  subjects  of  familiar  life  must 
find  more  readers  than  those  inspired  flights  of  imagination  or 
learned  allusions,  however  grand  with  the  charms  of  poetry, 
which  can  only  be  enjoyed  by  persons  of  fine  sensibility  and 
something  of  kindi'ed  taste  and  knowledge."  If  here  by  the  term 
"  highest  poetry"  is  meant  that  which  from  its  similes  and  allu- 
sions the  learned  alone  can  understand,  none  can  controvert 
the  statement.  But  for  simple  poetry  to  which  all  hearts  palpi- 
tate in  delight,  as  great  genius  is  required  as  for  the  recondite 
productions  whose  meaning  is  closed  to  only  the  burrowing 
worm  of  the  books.  "What  more  simple  than  the  plain,  common 
words  of  the  Psalms,  yet  how  unapproachable  in  grandeur  and 
majesty ! 

Gray  studied  in  the  school  of  the  Italian  and  ancient  poets, 
"  laboring  like  an  artist  to  infuse  part  of  their  spirit  and  their 
melody  into  his  own  compositions.  In  his  country  tours  the 
poet  parried  with  him  a  piano  convex-mirror  which,  in  survey- 
ing landscapes,  gathers  into  one  confined  glance  the  forms  and 
tints  of  the  surrounding  scene  into  a  view  in  miniature.  His  im- 
agination performed  a  similar  operation  in  collecting  and  fixing 
and  appropriating  the  materials  of  poetry.  All  is  bright,  natu- 
ral and  interesting,  but,  being  compressed,  is  seen  but  for  a 
moment  and  then  vanishes."  A  keen  obsers'er  of  Nature,  he 
took  notes  as  he  traveled,  on  the  spot.  He  would  not  "  trust  to 
memory,"  for,  said  he,  "  it  is  ten  times  worse  than  a  lead  pencil. 
Half  a  word  fixed  on  or  near  the  spot  is  worth  a  cart  load  of  re- 
collection." On  one  of  these  occasions  he  said,  "  Not  a  precipice, 
not  a  torrent,  not  a  cliflf,  but  is  pregnant  with  religion  and 
poetry." 

Some  years  since,  the  E^arl  of  Carlisle,  in  a  public  lecture  upon 
the  Poetry  of  Gray,  made  these  truthful  remarks  upon  this 
world-renowned  production : 

"  I  have  reserved  for  the  last  topic  of  observation  the  Elegy  in 
a  Country  Church-yard.  And  let  me  here  say  that  however 
artificial  the  poetry  of  Gray  may  have  been  sometimes  denomi- 
nated, I  believe  I  do  not  go  too  far  in  stating  that  his  Elegy  is, 
for  its  size,  the  most  popular  poem  ever  written  in  any  language. 


GRAY'S  ELEGY. 


In  corroboration  of  this  rather  positive  opifeion,  I  may  appeal 
to  the  common  verdict  of  mankind ;  to  its  lines  forming  house- 
hold words  in  all  memories ;  to  its  being  the  subject  of  incessant 
quotation,  and  of  scarcely  less  frequent  translation,  imitation 
and  parody.  I  prefer  to  repeat  no  other  terms  of  eulogy  than 
those  of  Dr.  Johnson  himself.  His  words  are,  "  In  the  character 
of  the  Elegy,  I  rejoice  to  concur  with  the  common  reader;  for 
by  the  common  sense  of  readers  uncorrupted  by  literary  pre- 
judices, after  all  the  refinements  of  subtilty  and  the  dogmatism 
of  learning,  must  Irulj'  rest  all  clairh  to  poetical  honor.  The 
Church-yard  abounds  with  images  which  find  a  mirror  in  every 
mind,  and  sentiments  to  which  every  bosom  finds  an  echo. 
Had  Gray  written  often  thus,  it  had  been  vain  to  blame  and 
useless  to  praise  him.  "  But  I  am  able  to  adduce  testimony  still 
higher,  more  atTecting,  and  probably  unparalleled  in  its  kind, 
to  the  merits  of  this  surpassing  poem,  and  its  influence  over  the 
human  heart.  We  ai"e  always  glad  to  have  our  own  judgments 
assisted  and  guided  by  the  thoughts  and  sayings  of  eminent 
men;  and  these  acquire  a  more  impressive  and  thrilling  in- 
terest if  they  have  been  expressed  shortly  before  the  close  of 
their  lives."  His  Lordship  then  alluded  to  the  well-authenti- 
cated incident  of  the  immortal  Wolfe  reciting  the  poem  to  his 
brotlier  ofllcers  just  before  his  glorious  death  on  the  blood- 
stained Heights  of  Quebec.    In  substance  it  is  as  follows : 

"  Wolfe,  reduced  to  straits  by  the  failure  of  Johnson's  co-opera- 
tion, saw  defeat  inevitable  except  he  won  victory  by  the  boldest 
enterprise.  Just  recovering  froni  illness,  and  with  strength' 
only  sufiicieut  for  imperative  business,  he  conceived  the  design 
of  landing  his  troops  beneath  the  Heights  of  Abraham,  and  of 
ascending  by  a  winding  path,  scarcely  wide  enough  to  permit 
two  to  walk  abreast.  Drawing  the  attention  of  the  French  to 
other  points,  he  collected  as  many  boats  as  he  could,  without 
raising  suspicion,  for  the  embarkation  of  liis  troops.  At  one 
o'clock  in  the  morning,  on  the  loth  of  September,  the  night 
dark  and  the  tide  flowing  in  the  favorable  direction,  he  sud- 
denly gave  the  order  to  embark.  Silently,  swiftly  tlie  boats 
moved  upon  the  tide,  every  mind  occupied  with  the  thought  of 
the  dawn  and  its  work.    No  word  was  spoken.    Wolfe  alone. 


bending  to  the  officers  near  him,  broke  the  stillness,  repeating 
stanzas  of  Gray's  Elegy.  What  stanzas  we  do  not  know,  one 
was 

*  The  boast  of  heraldry,  the  pomp  of  power, 

And  all  that  beauty,  all  that  wealth,  e'er  gave. 
Await,  alike,  the  inevitable  hoiir;— 

The  paths  of  glory  lead  but  to  the  grave.' 

"  Hov7  prophetic !  Wolfe  himself  was,  at  that  moment  in  the 
path  of  glory,  and  on  the  day  about  to  dawn  it  led  to  the  grave ! 
When  he  had  finished  the  recitation,  he  said:  ^Gentlemen,  I 
would  prefer  being  the  author  of  that  poem  to  the  glory  of  beating  the 
French  to-morrow.'  The  Elegy  was  then  a  recent  production. 
It  was  published  about  1750.    Wolfe  took  Quebec  in  1759." 

"  But,"  continued  his  Lordship,  "  1  pass  on  to  a  more  recent 
instance.  About  two  inonths  ago  the  great  American  States- 
man, Mr.  Webster,  was  lying  upon  his  death  bed.  Of  course  this 
is  not  the  place  for  estimating  the  character  and  qualities  of 
Mr.  Webster.  Upon  two  points  I  think  there  can  be  little 
difference  of  opinion — the  force  of  his  intellectual  powers,  and 
the  affecting  and  ennobling  account  we  have  received  of  his 
dying  hours.  But  from  the  particulars  which  are  there  re- 
corded, we  find  that  even  in  the  intervals  of  severe  pain,  even 
in  the  language  of  decaying  nature,  even  amid  the  appropriate 
and  exalted  topics  of  Christian  penitence  and  hope,  there  was  a 
further  craving  of  the  dying  man  yet  unsatisfied.  We  are  told 
that  he  was  heard  to  repeat,  somewhat  indistinctly,  the  words 
^Poet,  poetry,— Oray,  GrayJ'  His  Son  repeated  the  first  line  of 
the  Elegy, 

'The  curfew  tolls  the  knell  of  parting  day.' 

«'  'That's  it!  that's  it."  exclaimed  Mr.  Webster.  The  book  was 
brought,  and  other  stanzas  read,  which  seemed  to  give  him 
pleasure.  Surely  it  is  not  a  slight  thing  to  have  satisfied,  so  far 
as  the  world  they  were  about  to  leave  was  concerned,  the  latest 
aspirations  of  such  a  hero  as  Wolfe,  and  such  a  statesman  as 
Webster. 

"The  very  popularity  and  general  acceptance  of  so  brief  a 
poem  discourages  any  multiplied  quotations  from  it.    The  open- 


ing  of  the  descriptien  at  once  puts  the  village  life  of  England  be- 
fore us,  even  though  the  very  commencing  word— the  curfew- 
is  rather  a  recollection  of  obsolete  habits.*  In  the  second  stanza 
is  there  not  twilight  in  the  very  sounds  ? 

•Now  fades  the  glimmering  landscape  on  the  sight, 

And  all  the  air  a  solemn  stillness  holds, 
Save  where  the  beetle  wheels  his  droning  flight. 

And  drowsy  tinklings  lull  the  distant  folds.' 

"All  is  so  purely  appropriate,  without  being,  for  an  instant, 
tame  or  undignified,  which  Is  the  great  difference,  to  my  mind, 
between  Gray  and  more  modern  schools.  Then  we  have  the 
picture  of  the  specific  subject  of  the  poem  taken  more  closely  : 

•Beneath  those  rugged  elms,  that  yew-tree's  shade. 
Where  heaves  the  turf  in  many  a  moldering  heap. 

Each  in  his  narrow  cell  forever  laid. 

The  rude  forefathers  of  the  hamlet  sleep.' 

"  All  sermons  are  here  concentrated,  and  here  every  expression 
comes  up  to  the  full  dignity  of  the  most  solemn  of  all  human 
themes,  without  the  slightest  strain  or  inflation.  You  would 
Justly  blame  me  if  I  forbore  to  remind  you,  how  it  is  said  with 
most  eloquent  truth, 

•  Perchance,  in  this  neglected  spot,  is  laid 

Some  heart,  once  pregnant  with  celestial  fire; 

Hands,  that  the  rod  of  empire  might  have  swayed, 
Or  waked  to  ecstacy  the  living  lyre.' 

"  I  must  not  pursue  the  description  of  the  care-crazed,  or  love- 
crazed  youth  and  his  epitaph,  I  would  rather  a-sk  you  to  judge 
what  the  excellence  of  the  finished  poem  must  be  from  which 
the  author  deliberately  rejected  two  such  stanzas  as  these,  after 
they  had  been  once  inserted. 


•The  ringing  of  a  boll  at  nightfall,  originally  designed  as  a  signal  to  the 
Inhabitants  to  cover  fires,  extinguish  lights,  and  retire  to  rest:  the  practice 
was  instituted  by  William  the  Conqueror. 


geay's  elegy. 


'  Hark !  how  the  sacred  calm  that  breathes  around, 
*  Bids  every  fierce,  tumultuous  passion  cease, 

In  still,  small  accents  breathing  from  the  ground, 
A  grateful  earnest  of  eternal  peace.' 

"  And  this  description  of  the  rustic  tomb  of  tlie  village  scholar : 

'  There  scattered  oft,  the  earliest  of  the  year. 

By  hands  unseen,  are  showers  of  violets  found ; 
The  red-breast  loves  to  build  and  warble  there, 
And  little  footsteps  lightly  print  the  ground.' 

"  Such  were  the  still,  melancholy,  but  gentle  and  tender  rev- 
eries of  tlie  poet  to  whom  we  must  now  bid  farewell  in  the 
church-yard  of  Stoke-Poges ;  for  although  its  claim  to  be  the 
actual  scene  of  the  "Elegy"  is  disputed  with  a  neighboring 
village,  I  can  not  question  that  the  one  wliich  was  nearest  to  the 
place  of  his  residence,  answering  adequately  as  it  does  to  all  the 
touches  in  his  tlescription,  and  which  has  since  received  his 
motlier's  remains  and  his  own,  was  the  real  scene  of  in- 
spiration." 

An  American  traveler,  who  "turned  his  footsteps  toward  the 
churcli  of  Stoke-Poges,"  eloquently  describes  his  impression  of 
this  venerable  spot 

"  Where  the  rude  forefathers  of  the  hamlet  sleep." 

"  At  fi  distance  oti^o  or  three  miles  from  Windsor,"  he  writes, 
"  far  removed  from  tlie  public  highway  and  within  the  fine  old 
park,  formerly  belonging  to  the  family  of  William  Penn,  stands 
tire  church  of  Stoke-Poges.  Here  under  the  "  aged  elm  and  yew- 
tree's  sliade"  lie  the  ashes  of  Thomas  Gray.  On  a  tablet  under 
the  east  window  of  the  church  is  the  following  inscription: 


Oppofite  this  ftone,  in  the  fame  tomb  in  which  he 
has  fo  feelingly  recorded  his  grief  at  the  lofs  of  a  beloved 
parent,  are  depofited  the  remains  of  Thomas  Gray,  the 
Author  of  the  Elegy  written  in  a  Country  Church-Yard, 
etc.  etc.     He  was  buried  August  6th,  177  i. 


GRAY'S    ULEGY. 


A  plain  unpretending  tomb  covers  the  poet  and  his  mother. 
At  Stoke-Poges  the  elms  and  the  yew-trees  shade  tlio  graves  of 
the  hamlet  forefathers.  I  sat  for  a  long  lime  beneath  those 
yews,  thinking  that,  in  all  human  probability,  the  blood  of  these 
men  were  still  flowing  in  the  veins  of  my  own  countrymen ;  for 
around  nie  I  saw  the  graves  of  Parry,  of  Cooper,  of  Goddard,  of 
Gould,  of  Geere,  and  many  other  names  familiar  in  our  own 
laud.  And  then  I  thought  how  much  more  desirable  was  the 
fame  of  the  poet  than  of  the  king.  This  country  church-yard 
has  attractions  not  found  beneath  the  roof  of  tlie  Royal  Cliapol 
of  St.  George.  Few  care  as  to  where  rest  the  ashes  of  Charles 
the  First,  of  George  the  Third,  of  George  the  Fourth,  and  William 
the  Fourth.  But  the  country  church-yard  whore  Gray  wrote  his 
Elegy,  and  where  sleeps  all  that  was  mortal  of  him,  is  precious 
and  sacred  to  every  reader  of  the  English  language.  The  vision 
rises  to  view  in  city  and  country,  in  hall  and  in  cottage,  in  the 
groves  of  the  academy,  and  in  the  primeval  forest  where  the 
smoke  from  the  woodman's  hut  gives  notice  of  advancing 
civilization.  I  remained  musing  for  a  long  time.  No  human 
voice  disturbed  the  tranquillity  of  the  scene.  The  door,  which 
had  been  feeding  in  the  park,  were  gathering  and  lying  down  to 
their  rest.  The  songs  of  the  birds  in  the  leafy  elms  had  ceased, 
for  the  shades  ot  evening  were  advancing.  Tlje  morn  would 
break  on  the  morrow,  but 

'The  cock's  shrill  clarion,  and  the  echoing  horn' 


would  never  arouse  the  poet,  or  those  who  sleep  around  him, 
'  from  their  lowly  beds.'  '  Peace  to  their  ashes ! '  was  my 
humble  benediction,  as  I  bade  farewell  to  this  sequestered  and 
beautiful  spot  consecrated  by  genius." 

The  Elegy  has  been  a  favorite  subject  for  illustration  with 
artists.  Thirty-three  years  since,  a  beautiful  edition  of  the 
Poem  was  issued  in  London,  under  the  auspices  of  John 
Martin,  from  original  designs  by  Landseer,  Wf-stai-i,,  Con- 
stable, Copley  Fielding  and  other  eminent  Englisli  pain- 
ters of  that  day.  They  were  re-produced  in  one  of  the  earlier 
volumes  of  the  monthly  of  the  Harper's,  of  which  those  hero 


are  identical.  Being  In  miniature  and  in  exquisite  delicacy,  the 
crowded  form  thei'e  given  failed  to  convey  the  distinctness  of 
impression  due  to  their  great  merit.  "We  here  obviate  the 
difficulty  by  presenting  them  in  ample  relief,  each  on  a  page  by 
itself.  An  elegant  edition  of  the  Elegy,  in  Holiday  garb  and 
price  corresponding,  is  now  published  by  "W.  H.  Appleton,  New 
York.  The  designs  are  also  copies  of  those  in  the  London  work 
of  Martin,  but  much  enlarged  and  wanting  in  delicacy,  yet  so 
bold  and  brilliant  as  to  impart  pleasure,  especially  to  impaired 
vision. 


GRAY'S     ELEGY     ILLUSTRATED. 

Engnred  from  the  Design  of  G.  Babrst. 


7'he  Curfew  fotfs  l/ic  A-nell  of  parlinff  fity ; 

The  lotfiuff  heril  winds  stowlj'  o'er  ihc  lea ; 
The  plowman  homeward  plorls  his  weary  way, 

c4nd  leares  the  world  lo  darA-nrss  and  to  me. 


GRAY'S     ELEGY     ILLUSTRATED. 

Engraved  from  the  Design  of  Copixr  Fieldmg, 


VERSE  II. 


JVoff  fades  the  (/IiHimerinff  latidsccrpe  on  the  tiff  hi, 
^nd  atl  the  air  a  solemn  stillness  holds. 

Save  where  the  beetle  wheels  his  droning  flight, 
c4.?id  drowsy  tinA:linffs  lull  the  disttnt  folds  : 


GRAY'S     ELEGY     ILLUSTRATEC 

Engraved  from  the  Design  of  J.  Constasi^,  K.  A. 


TERSE  III. 


Save  thai,  from  yondcf  iry-maniled  ioH'er, 

The  mopinff  On'l  doet  io  the  Jfoon  coniphiiit 

Of  such  ax,  wandcrhiff  near  tier  secret  bcwor, 
.Wotest  tier  aticie/it  solitary  reif/n. 


GRAY'S     ELEGY     ILLUSTRATED. 

Engrftred  from  the  Design  of  G.  Cattebuoli. 


VERSE  IV. 

Seneafh  those  ruffffed  e?ms,  that  yew-tree's  shade. 
Where  heaves  ike  itirf  in  many  a  tnolderinsf  heap, 

Each  in  his  narrow  cell  forever  laid, 

The  rude  forefathers  of  the  hamlet  sleep. 


GRAY'S     ELEGY     ILLUSTRATED. 

Engraved  from  the  Z>esi^  of  J.  Constabu,  R.  A, 


'/'he  breezy  call  of  hiceuse-bi-ealhhifr  .Iforii, 

The  fH'alloH'  Iwilleriiir/  from  the  s/rrnf-Ouill  ihel , 

The  cocX-'s  shrill  cl(i7-/'on,  or  the  echolii;/  liorii, 

J\^o  more  shall  rouse  litem  from  Ihcir  lowly  bc'l. 


35 


^1"  - 


5=^s=;gS4,-- *?; 


GRAY'S     ELEGY     ILLUSTRATED. 

Engraved  from  the  Design  of  T.  Stothabd,R.  A, 


VERSE  VI. 


For  ihetn,  no  tnore  the  blazhif/  hearth  shall  burn. 
Or  busy  housewife  ply  her  eveninff  care; 

J\~o  ehildreti  run  to  lisp  their  sire's  return. 

Or  climb  his  A:nees ,  the  envied  kiss  to  share. 


GRAY'S     ELEGY     ILLUSTRATED. 

Engraved  from  the  resign  of  P.  Diwow. 


VERSE  VII. 


Oft  did  ific  harvest  to  ttieir  sicA-le  j'ietd ; 

T/ieir  furrow  oft  t/ie  shibborn  f/lebc  tint  broAc ; 
Hon'  jocund  did  ttiey  driye  ttieir  team  a -field .' 

jBbff  bofy'd  ttie  tfoodt  beneatti  ttieir  tturdj'  utroAc . 


GRAY'S     ELEGY     ILLUSTRATED. 

EngraTed  from  the  Design  of  W.  13oxau» 


VERSE  viir. 

Lei  tiol  ylnibition  niocA:  their  itsefut  ioii , 
2'heir  ttoi}te?y  Joys,  and  clesliiiy  obscure ; 

JVor  Grandeur  hear,  tfith  a  (iisdahiful  smile, 
2'he  short  and  simple  annals  of  the  jjoor. 


GRAY'S     ELEGY     ILLUSTRATED. 

Engraved  from  the  Deeigii  of  S.  A.  Habt,  A.  R.  A. 


VERSE  IX. 


The  boasl  of  heraldry ,  fhe  jtomp  ofpoH'er, 

sintl  all  Ihat  bcaufy,  all  that  H'ealth,  e'er  gave, 

tiffait,  allA-e,  th"  inerifaOle  hour; — 

The  paths  of  f/ lory  hart  but  to  the  ffrare. 


■••mmma^Mjmaaiimmiama^mmum 


,.„i,!i#;|"J";'' 


GRAY'S     ELEGY     ILLUSTRATED. 

EDgraTed  from  the  Design  of  G.  Cattskmols. 


VERSE  X. 


jyor  j'ou,  j'e  jJfouc/ /  impute  to  ihese  i/ie  fauti. 
If  Memory  o'e?-  ihvir  tomb  no  irop/iies  raise; 

yFhere    ihrotiffh  the  lonff-drann  aisle  and  fretted  vault. 
The  peaiiriff  anthem  swells  the  note  of  praise. 


GRAY'S     ELEGY     ILLUSTRATED. 

Eagraved  from  the  Design  of  J.  CoNffTADLl,  R.  A. 


VERSE  XI. 

Can  sloriecl  urn,  or  taiiinaicd  Intsf , 

Sac  A:  lo  iis  mansion  rail  Ihc  Jlcciln.r;  breath  ? 
Can  J/otior's  roice proroA-c  ihc  silent  dust:' 

Or  jyaticrj'  soothe  the  dull  cold  car  of  'Death  , 


GRAY'S     ELEGY     ILLUSTRATED. 

Engraved  from  the  Design  of  Toomas  Landsreb, 


VERSE  XII. 

ferhajis,  in  I  his  7tefflecled  spol,  is  laid 

•?ome  hearl,  otice  preffnani  with  celesiiai  fire  ; 

JIands ,  that  the  rod  of  empire  miff  hi  hare  swayed. 
Or  waked  to  ecstasy  the  lirinff  tyre. 


Vim.  '^' 


GRAY'S     ELEGY     ILLUSTRATED. 

Engraveil  from  the  Pesign  of  Frank  HoWAao. 


VEKSE  xiir. 
Su/  A'noH'le<}r/e ,  to  //te/r  ej-es.  Iter  ampfe  ^affe, 

Itirh  wilh  f/te  sj>oils  of  time,  flid  ne'er  unroll ', 
Chill  y^cnurjy  rcprcsned  their  noble  rrtf/e, 

^^.d  froze  the  i/cnial  current  of  the  soul. 


GRAY'S     ELEGY     ILLUSTRATED. 

Engraved  from  the  Design  of  Vf.  "Westall,  A.  R.  A, 


VERSE  XIV. 


Fuil  many  a  gent  of  puresi  ray  sei'ene, 

Tfie  clarA-  unfalfiomed  cares  of  ocean  bear; 

FuU  many  a  Jlower  is  horn  to  blush  unseen, 
iind  waste  /Is  sweetness  on  the  deserl  air. 


GRAY'S     ELEGY     ILLUSTRATED. 

£iiSr»Te.l  from  the  Dea\ga  of  VT.  Cji/'UTT,  R.  A. 


VEllSE   XV. 


Some  villa f/e  Hampden ,  llial,  with  Oattnllest  breast, 
2'he  little  tyrant  of  his  fields  withstood  : 

Some  mute,  infftoriotis  .Ifilton, — here  niajr  rest ; 

Some  Croniwcll ,  i/nillless  of  his  country  *  blood. 


GRAY'S     ELEGY     ILLUSTRATED, 

Engraved  from  the  Design  of  J,  n    Nison. 


VERSE  XVI. 


ITh'  apptatise  of  ti'sfeninff  senates  to  command ; 

Ithe  t/treats  of  pain  and  ruin  to  despise ; 
To  scatter  plenty  o'er  a  smiting  la?id, 

:4.nd  read  t/ieir  history  in  a  nation's  eyes. 


GRAY'S     ELEGY     ILLUSTRATED. 

Engraved  from  the  Dcaign  of  A.  C«OFift,  B,  A. 


VERSE  XVII. 

T/teir  iof  forbade  :  ttor  circttmscrtbcd  alotie 

Their  (/roH'inr/  rirlues,  bul  their  crimes  roufiited ; 

Forbade  lo  wade  ihi-ouf/h  slauffhier  io  a  ihrone, 
iind  shttl  the  gates  of  mercy  on  nianJkind. 


^^iffli  i"  nil'  'iim'iihifi'ii'niirn  hY\u-^^ 


GRAY'S     ELEGY     ILLUSTRATED. 

Engraved  from  the  Design  of  W.  MuuiuST,  E,  A. 


VERSE  XVIII. 


T'Ae  strtifff/linff  pangs  of  conscious  irttlh  to  hide ^ 
To  quench  ifie  blushes  of  ingenuous  shame; 

Or  7ieap  the  shrine  of  l,uxtiry  and  S^-ide, 
With  incense  X:indled  at  the  Jf'fuse's  flame. 


GRAY'S     ELEGY     ILLUSTRATED. 

Engraved  from  the  Design  of  J.  W.  'WafGirp, 


VERSE  XIX. 
Far  from  the  madcthir/  cronrVs  !r/nobte  tlri/e. 

Their  sober  wishes  never  iearned  to  stray ; 
Aloni/  the  coot,  sequestered  rate  of  life. 

They  Aepl  the  tioisetess  tetior  of  their  nay. 


r 


GRAY'S     ELEGY     ILLUSTRATED, 

Engraved  from  the  Design  of  Charles  Lan 


VEKSE   XX. 

Tef  e'en  these  hones  from  insttlt  to  protect. 
Some  frail  tncttiorial  still,  erected  tiiffh, 

)t^ith  uncouth  rJiymes  and  shapeless  sculpture  decA-ed, 
Zmptores  the  passi/iff  tribute  of  a  si^h. 


GRAY'S     ELEGY     ILLUSTRATED 

£DS^Ted  from  the  D«3igQ  of  J.  J.  Cuau}N,  A.  R.  A. 


VEKSE  XXI. 

Their  name,  their  years ,  spell  by  ih'  unleiiered  .fftite, 
2'he  place  of/anie  and  elei/y  supply ; 

citid  matiy  a  holy  lexl  around  the  sirens, 
2'ltal  icach  lite  rustic  moralist  to  die. 


36 


GRAY'S     ELEGY     ILLUSTRATED. 

Engraved  from  the  Desi^  of  H.  Howaed,  R.  A. 


VERSE   XXII. 


Tor  who,  lo  dumb  Forffeffulness  a  prey. 

This  ]ileasi}iff ,  anxious  being  e'er  resigned ; 

Zf'fi  the  war  171  precincts  of  I  fie  cheerful  day, 

J^Tor  cast  one  tonging,  lingering  look  behind ^ 


GRAY'S     ELEGY     ILLUSTRATED. 

Engrared  from  ebe  Dfsipi  of  R.  WinTiLL,  R.  A. 


VERSE  XXIII. 


On  some  fotut  breast  the  vartinff  soul  relies ; 

Sotne  pious  drops  the  closing  ej'e  requires  ; 
J^ en  from  the  tomb  the  roice  of  J^'attire  cries; 

JS'en  in  our  ashes  lire  their  tfonted jfres. 


GRAY'S     ELEGY     ILLUSTRATED. 

Engraved  from  the  Design  of  J.  W.  Weigbt. 


VEESE  XXIV. 


For  Ihee,  who,  tnhidful  of  th'  tinhonored  dead, 
Does  in  these  lines  their  arttess  iate  retate ; 

If  'chance,  hy  tonety  Contemjilaiion  ted. 

Some  A-indred  spirit  shalt  inquire  thy  fate ; 


^i5tea^^s?i3*=-^' 


GRAY'S     ELEGY     ILLUSTRATED. 

Sngrave^  from  the  Pesipn  of  Coplst  Fielduto. 


VERSE  XXV. 


TTapty ,  some  hoary-hcadod  SH'nin  may 'say  : 

"Ofl  hare  we  seen  tiim,  nt  the  peep  of  dawn, 

Tirushinrf ,  ff/fh  hasfy  steps,  the  (ten's  arvay. 
To  meet  the  Sun  upon  the  uptand  lan'n. 


GRAY'S     ELEGY     ILLUSTRATED. 

Engraved  from  the  Design  of  G.  Babrbt. 


VERSE  XXVI. 


"There,  at  the  foot  ofj'onder  noddhiff  beech. 
That  wreathes  its  old  fantastic  roots  so  hiffh. 

His  listless  letifflh,  at  tioontide,  would  he  stretch, 
^nd pore  upon  the  brook  that  babbles  by. 


GRAY'S     ELEGY     ILLUSTRATED. 

EngraTed  from  the  Design  of  Tualbb  Fibldino. 


VERSE  XXVII. 

"  JTard  b^y  j-on  n'oorl,  fiow  umilhi,'/,  as  in  scorn, 

,'9fulteri>iff  his  ffayward  fancies ,  he  n'ouid  rove  : 
.A'otf  ffroopinff ,  n'oefitl ,  fcan ,  UAe  one  foriorn. 

Or  crazed  wilh  care,  or  crossed  in  hopetess  lore. 


'-^ 


GRAY'S     ELEGY     ILLUSTRATED. 

Enfraved  from  the  Design  of  C.  R.  Stahlit. 


VERSK  XXVIII. 


"  One  morn  T  missed  Jtim  on  Ihe  'customed  hilt, 
iitonff  the  heath,  and  near  his  farorile  tree; 

i4nother  came, — nor  j'et  beside  the  rilt, 

JVor  up  the  tawn,  nor  at  the  wood,  ffat  hej 


GRAY'S     ELEGY     ILLUSTRATED. 

Eo^aved  from  the  Design  of  W.  Colum,  R.  A. 


VEKSE  XXIX. 


"The  next,  vifh  dirffes  due,  in  tad  array, 

SloH>  i/irouf/h  Ihe  church-way  path  h'c  satr  hint  borne, 

Approach  and  read  (for  thou  canst  read)  ihe  tay. 
Grayed  on  the  stone  btneath  yon  aged  thorn." 


GRAY'S     ELEGY     ILLUSTRATED. 

Engraved  from  the  Design  of  Fkank  Howa&d. 


VERSE   XXX. 

Sere  resls  ?iis  head  upon  i/ie  Uip  of  JSarth, 
^  youlk,  lo  forhme  trtifl  lo  fame  u?iA-tto>f?i , 

Fair  Science  frowned  ttot  on  his  hunibte  birlh, 
And  Jtfetanciioiy  mnt'A-ed  him  for  he/   OM'n. 


GRAY'S     ELEGY     ILLUSTRATED. 

Engraved  froui  the  Design  of  H.  Hjwabd,  R.  A. 


VKRSE  xxxr. 


J.(i7'{/e  was  Ills  botnity,  anrl  his  sou/  sincere  ; 

Jfearen  dift  a  recompense  as  !nr,7e(v  senrl : 
J{e  !/nvc  lo  .Jfisery  ntl  ?<e  had — a  tear ; 

Jfe  ffained  from  heaven  {.'/  n'as  a?l  he  u'ishc/f)  a  friend. 


GRAY'S     ELEGY     ILLUSTRATED. 

Engraved  from  the  Design  of  8.  A.  Habt,  A.  R.  A. 


VERSE  XXXII. 


^o  further  seeX:  his  merits  to  disclose. 

Or  (fraff  his  frailties  frotn  their  dread  abode ; 

( There  they  alike  in  irentbling  hope  repose,') 
The  bosom  of  his  leather  and  his  God. 


nr^   rv 


&^ 


